


Vanity of Vanities (ON HIATUS)

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book Elements, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Fuck Sansa, Fuck The Three-Eyed Raven, House Targaryen, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Targaryen Babies, Targaryen Incest, Targaryen Restoration, Wish Fulfillment, Wishful Thinking, Ya'll know the drill with me, fuck D&D, the dragon has three heads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-11-27 09:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The gods give Daenerys Targaryen a second chance, sending her back to a stormy night mere days before she is to sail to Westeros, to her destiny. What she knows now, what she knows is to come, sets her on a path that is both familiar and yet wholly different.(On Hiatus due to circumstances beyond the author's control)





	1. Part I, Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!
> 
> So....welcome back to my Targaryen circle jerk...just kidding! But no seriously, this is yet another Dany wish-fulfillment fic fueled by my dissatisfaction with the way that the show ended. As is the drill with Reign of the Dragon, this is purely, purely fantasy: if you are here for it then yay! If you aren't, then there are other fics that suit your fancy more! 
> 
> Thank you for clicking and please enjoy Vanity of Vanities!

**LAST SEED, 303 AC**

**MEREEN, ESSOS**

A thunderclap accompanied the exact moment that Daenerys awoke, mirroring the one that had heralded the first cry from her lungs upon her birth. Her skin was slick with sweat, a pallor having overtaken her already pale skin, and her silvery hair was tangled, giving the beautiful woman the appearance of madness.

Her mouth dropped open, a scream threatening to come forth, but instead, all that she managed was a hollow, broken gasp. Violet eyes scanned the room, the candles lit before she had retired to bed now burning low in their holders, the light casting menacing shadows across the large room. The wind howled outside, beating against the wooden doors that kept the damp out.

She was safe, wasn’t she? Then why had she startled so suddenly? What made her heart race like a thousand Dothraki screamers and…

A castle upon the sea. An expanse of white snow, a flight through valley and forge, cutting down men that were corpses and yet alive, a warm embrace, filled with passion.

The bells. The smell of burning flesh. The burnt corpses of man, child and woman, innocent and guilty all mixed together. Dark eyes filled with love, and sadness and **fear**, a pain that radiated outwards from her chest as she bled out and cold began to creep from the bottom upwards…

_BURN THEM ALL! _The voice of a madman rang like those cursed bells in her ears, _BURN THEM ALL!_

Her hand went under her nightgown, as the voice continued to scream in her mind, deafening her. She knew and yet did not know what she was searching for, but she found it, a scar just under her chest, between her ribs. _This is no dream. _

The Queen of Mereen scarcely managed to grab a vase before she was violently and loudly ill: her body lurched and she retched, tears streaming down her face until her stomach was empty and she had nothing to give but bile and air. Still trembling, although whether it was from fright, sickness or the sudden chill that had permeated the air of her bedroom, Dany could not tell. Slowly rising from the bed, a cold, clammy hand swiping across her mouth, she slowly made her way towards the double doors that lead to her balcony. She could hear the summer gale from here now, the roll of the waves, the beat of the rain against stone.

It sounded like a roaring dragon.

Memories that were not her own bled together, and alongside the pale stone walls she could see the actions of a hopeful few, a young king. But it was tainted.

A mistrustful people, a deceptive summer and then chaos. A land swallowed up by an evil not quite defeated, a winter that lasted a thousand years obliterating the living, leaving only a kingdom of the dead more desolate and haunted than Stygai in its wake.

She grasped the door handles, turning them, and then let in the wind.

The candles were outed as Daenerys stepped over the threshold and into the storm.

_If this is their future, then what should I do to change it? They will reap what they sow. _

Lightning cracked, and if any building were as high as the pyramid claimed by the woman, they would have spotted the Conqueror of Slaver’s Bay, hair plastered against her skin, eyes turned to the heavens above as they rolled, cried and spat out their dissatisfaction. As though in a trace, Dany walked, unbothered by the storm, until she was able to brace herself against the thick stone banister.

She was still crying, but the rain masked these tears.

_I was proud and mad and vain, _the silver queen thought, _But I was foolish and too trusting as well. Betrayed by ungrateful wretches. _The angry screams from before returned, but she ignored this, squeezing her eyes shut and listening to the wind and thunder for a while. It drowned out the voice. She could scarcely feel the discomfort of the cold, so warm was her skin.

_No, _she thought, _my ancestors once united Westeros and held it together, for better or for worse for centuries. How many mad Targaryens were there compared to those who served, and served well? The majority of us were hardly mad. Perhaps I am one of the few that were. _

The duty of a ruler was not to rule but to serve, and never before had Daenerys Targaryen understood this so clearly. _I am ignorant to what good governance is, _she thought, as she watched the bay illuminated by lightning, ships rolling in the tide, an anchor between them and destruction, _and so I must learn that fire and blood cannot solve all my problems, but neither can blind mercy. And not to extend my hand to those who would bite it in the same breath._

She began to laugh, spreading her arms wide and finally embracing the storm. Just beneath the winds she could hear the screams of her dragons, echoing their mother’s mirth. She could feel their heartbeat, hear their breaths, feel their _love_ more keenly than she ever had before. Never again would she need whip or command to order Drogon about, for now she could almost see through his eyes, witnessing this show of nature’s fury from her son’s perspective. The colors were sharper, the scenery more vivid. He was her as much as she was him.

“Khaleesi!” Daenerys turned, and there, whole and hale, eyes wide with confusing and wearing little more than a sleeping tunic, was Missandei, soft, dark curls flying about her face.

Daenerys thought she would cry, seeing her dearest friend before her. Missandei braved the storm to take Dany around the shoulders and haul her back into the bedroom: as the former slave closed and latched the doors Dany stood, dripping wet in the center of the room. Like a disappointed mother, or perhaps a concerned guardian, Missandei demanded, so rare for the composed young woman,

“What were you thinking?!”

Daenerys could only smile, so happy she was to see Missandei. Happier than she’d ever been.

The rain stopped but the wind was still strong by the time that Missandei and Daenerys sat on stools before the crackling hearth. The Queen and her servant were wrapped in warm cotton, and on a table between them steam furled upwards from the cups of tea that another servant had prepared.

“Daenerys,” Missandei asked, one hand on Dany’s arm, “What is wrong?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, my friend.”

“…I have seen dragons take to the sky, _Khaleesi_, try again.”

And so Daenerys told her tale, weaving the events together as best as she could remember them. She told of the arrival at Dragonstone, that first council, the words of Olenna Tyrell who would die at Cersei Lannister’s command. She spoke of meeting Jon Snow, of the loss of their armies and navies, of venturing to the North and losing her Viserion. She recalled the tall, gray towers of Winterfell, the hard faces of the Northerners and the colder eyes of their future Queen. She spoke of being disregarded and plotted against, of Jorah’s death and then of Missandei’s, stumbling over her words. The bloody haze that appeared to descend over her mind from the bells, the smell of burning corpses that had delighted that Daenerys but horrified this one. Of being killed by the man she believed she had loved.

And finally of the winter of a thousand years that descended over Westeros: when spring finally came, there was no living creature there to greet it. It was like white death. Few escaped its wrath; the seas were frozen over by nature’s fury and those who chanced a journey across it only found failure. Not even animals survived in great number. When her tale was finished, violet eyes reluctantly rose to meet dark brown eyes, wide with fear, expectation and anxiety. _Now, _Dany thought, _she shall believe me mad and finally leave my service. I would not blame her if she did. _

“…We can no longer trust Varys and Tyrion,” The Naathi resolutely spoke. A sob unbidden burst forth from Daenerys’ mouth and she threw herself into Missandei’s arms: if the translator were surprised, she did not show it. Instead the wonderful, wonderful woman who Dany could call servant and friend wrapped her arms around the Queen and held her, running slender fingers through the undone silver mane. When the tears finally ebbed and Dany’s nose was pink from the crying, she vowed,

“I will not fall and fail as I did in that world.” It was a promise to Missandei as much as it was to a promise to everyone who had fallen on her journey, from her mother to Ser Darry to even cruel Viserys, whose death had proved a turning point on her journey from girlhood to womanhood. Her brother had loved her, once upon a time. But she should have known better. “I have been like a blind man, stumbling about in shadow, with no light to guide me but an ideal and a belief. I believed too much in my own singular power and that the people of Westeros would love me in the way that the people I have freed here did.” There was no reason for her to believe this, other than blind, stupid vanity. Her brows furrowed.

“I will not make the same mistakes twice.”


	2. Part I, Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys awakens to a brave, new world and immediately takes steps towards a different fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading? On-Time? Perish the thought!

**LAST SEED, 303 AC**

**MEREEN, ESSOS**

Dawn broke and Dany had hardly slept.

After Missandei extracted a promise from her that she was alright, the woman had departed to get some sleep, and Daenerys had remained awake, for hours, eyes fixed upon the ceiling with a little frown on her lips. There was so much that would have to be adjusted. The North would be eliminated from her plans. They wished for freedom so badly? Let them have it. There was a reason that the North had starved during the long winters before the Targaryens arrived. Let them know the sting of hubris, the bitter taste of foul fruit she was well-acquainted with.

If Jon Snow and Sansa Stark were smart, they could forge individual treaties with their neighbors in the Vale and the Riverlands.

She would not waste time on people so resolute in their traditions and independence.

Dany rose and bathed and dressed, ordering her servants to inform Varys and Tyrion that she was unavailable to them. She watched her servants carefully: no doubt that Varys had spies amongst them.

As the sun made its ascent into the sky, she met with Qhono and Grey Worm in the very catacombs where she’d imprisoned her beloved children. In High Valyrian she explained to Grey Worm the same story she relayed to Missandei the night before: the only surprise he displayed was a very slight quirk of the brows, but it quickly vanished in favor of his normal, dour expression. Like Missandei, he reaffirmed the distrust they should hold in the Spider and the Imp. Her eyes stung with tears that threatened to fall, but the queen held herself together.

_I do not deserve Missandei of Naath and Torgo Nudho. Truly._

With her story done, Grey Worm nodded, as Qhono, who had picked out bits and pieces of the conversation, asked,

“_What do we do with the Imp and the Spider, Khalessi?_”

“_…We keep an eye on them,_” Daenerys spoke, weaving Dothraki and Valyrian together, her eyes fixed on a suddenly dimmed crack in the wall. One of his little birds, perhaps? He wasn’t exactly being subtle. “_Observe but do not approach. Do not make it obvious that this is what you are doing_.”

“_Why not simply kill them both?_” Grey Worm’s eyes burned at the mere suggestion of Missandei’s death. “_It would be quicker. Easier._”

“_No,_” she said, “_That is too simple._” She had plans for them, should they attempt to struggle against her new tact.

Both men nodded their heads and with that, she dismissed them.

As she made her way back to the main pyramid, she wondered if Tyrion had ever been wise or simply clever: there was a difference between the two. By the time that she entered her palace proper she came to the conclusion that he had simply been extremely lucky and his good fortune in decision making had finally run thin.

_Either way, _she thought, _he will leave my service before I am crowned. _

There was another, whose dismissal she had to see to. And this one would hurt.

As she entered the room, Daario looked up at her. Like in that past life, she informed him that she would be leaving him here, in Mereen, to rule with a Council. She had confidence in this man that others would raise their brows at, but something in her told her that Daario would grow into that role. But unlike that past life, she embraced him, explaining:

“I cannot love you the way that you deserved to be loved,” She buried her face in his brown hair, feeling his large, strong hand on her back, “But you are a part of who am I now and for that, you will have my unending affection and gratitude.” After what felt like hours, she pulled away, and found the Pentoshi sellsword gazing at her. 

He gazed at her, an easy smile spreading across his face as a little bit of hurt gleamed in his eyes. “Never have sweet words meant to soothe burn so much. Still, should ever you need it, you have my sword and my loyalty, My Queen.”

She considered it. Bringing him to Westeros alongside her. But she knew that it was better that he remained here, carrying out her will from afar. The Dragon Queen leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and then embraced him again, for a very long time. Before she left the room, however, she made a request of him, one that had him bark out a laugh.

“I want you to teach me the blade and the arakh.” The burning of the supply train and the Battle of Winterfell had taught her that she could not always rely on her dragons. Even if it was minimal, she had to learn.

Daario laughed, but not in a mocking manner, instead he asked, “You wish for me to teach you? Are you sure? I will be no gentle teacher, Daenerys.”

“I do not desire for you to be,” she stared at him, conviction in her eyes, “Treat me as you would any fresh recruit to the Second Sons.”

“…” Daario’s lips curled, and he vowed, “As my queen commands.”

(…)

By the time that Varys departed to Dorne two weeks later, Daenerys was already sore. Daario insisted upon running and using wooden instruments before putting any blade in her powdered, silken hands. He woke her at dawn and drilled her hard for hours: not just instructing her in weaponry but also hand-to-hand combat: Daario had sunk his fist into her stomach more than once and she’d sunk to the ground gasping or straight up losing the meagre breakfast he’d advised her to have. Her former lover would then bark for her to get back up, they weren’t finished yet.

No one said that this would be easy. _And I did tell him to treat me like a fresh recruit, didn’t I? _

As she panted after the tenth lap around the training area, her sellsword told her, “_I must impart upon you in weeks that which normally takes years. But you are the blood of the dragon: you’ll be fine._”

More that once she considered, as she was knocked into the dirt by the smirking Pentoshi, feeding him to Drogon. And yet the challenge invigorated her.

As she watched the Spider’s ship sail forth from the harbor, a thought crept through her mind.

Her education had been lacking. There was no need to educate properly a pawn and a broodmare, Viserys had thought. That would also be rectified alongside her inability to fight and defend herself without her dragons.

But she could have sworn that Doran of Dorne had other children. In his mad ranting, a Princess had been mentioned. And did she not have a brother other than the one killed during the infamous coup? Ellaria Sand had been an interesting ally, but an illegitimate one. A **very **illegitimate one. One that could bite her reign in the behind, soon enough. What story had Ellaria Sand spun for the Dornish people, she wondered? She had been under the impression that the Martells were popular.

“Missandei.”

“Yes, Dany?” Ever since that night, the formality between them had broken down in private: she encouraged the woman to call her by her pet name. Yes, Missandei was her loyal attendant but she was a friend, one that Daenerys refused to take for granted any longer.

“Please send servants into the city. See if they can find any Dornish traders.” They might be able to shed light on answers she felt compelled to seek. Surely one of them could tell her…

“At once.”

Missandei set out to complete her task and Daenerys went to her balcony: to her surprise Drogon had landed on the stones above, her first born peering at her as Viserion and Rhaegal hovered. Coos and purrs came from all three, and Viserion, always the sweetest of her children, nudged her face with his snout. Drogon lowered his head so that it was next to his brother’s. His scarlet eyes gleamed intelligently at her, almost childlike. She could almost hear him say: “Come fly with us, Mother.”

“Oh, very well.” She fondly said, as the dragon lowered his wing and allowed her to clamber onto his back. She gripped his spikes carefully, mentally reminding herself to have craftsmen draw up and forge armor for herself and her children. She would chance nothing, when it came to her greatest assets. _If I could put my hands on Valyrian Steel, _she thought, _I would have been happier. But we have lost that coveted secret. _

As they soared over Mereen, dipping low over the ocean and her growing fleet, Drogon’s tail just scarcely ghosting the sea, the last Targaryen felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. _My children will not perish in any barren tundra or over cold seas,_ she thought, brows furrowing as Drogon pulled himself up in the air again, _I swear it. _

By the time that she returned to her pyramid, her hair was in tangles, a crime that Missandei would surely lament given how hard it could be to manage, and her clothes were rumpled. She thought she might have more time to compose herself, but a servant arrived, bowing low,

“_Mhysa_.”

“Is something the matter?”

“There is a man who requests an audience.” Dany raised her brows: this late in the day? When the sun was about to dip behind the mountains and left the city in a blanket of darkness. Too late for any sort of audience to be had. She was about to dismiss the servant, when they explained, “He claims that he is Prince Quentyn Nymeros-Martell of Dorne.”

In that single sentence, they had Daenerys’ complete and utter attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have theories about why the Dorne plot on the show is so bad but it boils down to the fact that I sincerely believe that D&D a) can't write, b) can't write, or c) can't write. If you haven't read the books, go read them! Arianne's POV chapters are fascinating. On the subject of Valyrian Steel, I will bring it back into the story but I haven't really decided how yet. Maybe it'll be explored in Part II of the tale. What do you think of Daario teaching Dany to fight? 
> 
> I did my research and I couldn't find anything about the education Dany might have received. But if my theory is correct, she probably didn't receive one of any substance. So we'll be examining that as we go. This will be the last pretty short chapter: all of the following ones will be over 2000 words long.


	3. Part I, Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Quentyn Martell.

**LAST SEED, 303 AC**

**MEREEN, ESSOS**

She elected to meet with the man claiming nobility alone.

Daenerys chose a black gown of wool and silk, wearing a necklace forged into the shape of a dragon coiling around her neck: ruby eyes glinted menacingly from her collarbone. The silver bells she always wore tinkled softly as she walked into room, and she had begun to wear a dagger about her waist. Sitting upon her throne, she finally fixed her gaze on the visitor, the tapers casting light on his features. She did not bother with grandiose announcements or shows of intimidation: it was a cheap tactic in the past and if he was who he said he was, he would already know who she was.

He was clearly Salty Dornish, very tall and broad shouldered, with his dark olive skin and hair so dark that she could glimpse blue highlights, like a swallow’s wing. His brows met with a dramatic slant and one might call him too harsh-looking to be handsome, but there was something that compelled Daenerys in his strong jawline and nose broken at least once, a scar running across the bridge, from one cheek to the next. He was freshly shaven, wearing the garb of an Essosi sellsword rather than the raiment of Westerosi nobility.

She resisted the urge to flush: he certainly was…attractive. But the Dragon Queen kept her composure, and stated: “I am told that you claim to be a Prince of Dorne.”

“I cannot claim to be what I already am.” His voice was deep, with a fluid, musical accent. Norvosi influences danced around the edge of his speech. It sent a tingle up the Queen’s spine and she cleared her throat, signaling him to continue. He continued, “I am Prince Quentyn Nymeros-Martell of Dorne, firstborn son of Prince Doran Nymeros-Martell and his wife, Mellario of Norvos.”

“I see.” She hesitated to believe him. She had no way of verifying the truth, did she? “And do you stand in line for the throne?”

“I am only second in line, Your Grace.” Dany raised her brows, Quentyn elaborating, “In Dornish law, the eldest child, regardless of sex, takes precedence. My sister, Arianne, five years older, is the rightful claimant of the Spear Seat, and thus I am here on her behalf.”

“Why is she not here with you? And where is she?”

“In Lys,” he easily explained, “Plotting on how to regain Sunspear and attempting to gather support.”

“Are you aware that Ellaria Sand sits on the throne?”

“I am.” His lips curled and Daenerys watched his previously impassive expression morph into a mixture of grief, rage and restraint. “It appears she has spread the rumor that we died in the flux epidemic that struck the Free Cities the year before. We were in Norvos when the pale mare arrived, yes, but our household were spared of such plague, thank the Seven.”

“…” Dany rested her chin on her hand. Quietly she observed this man: despite his intimidating appearance, he had been surprisingly frank and…open with her. She didn’t know what to make of this Salty Dornishman and his honesty. _Have I kept snakes around my person for so long that genuine words prompt suspicion?_

“Your Grace?”

_No. A healthy amount of suspicion is fine._

“…Why have you come to me, Quentyn Nymeros-Martell?”

“We have heard of a Targaryen Queen who intends to reclaim her rightful throne.” Quentyn withdrew a letter from his pockets, ascending the steps to hand it to Daenerys, who accepted it: he retreated as quickly as he’d come to her. It was sealed with the distinct emblem of the Dornish ruling house. Opening it, she found flourishing, neat handwriting. _Arianne Martell, then? _“My sister has sent me to symbolically bend the knee in exchange for support to take back what is ours.”

Daenerys took time to read the letter: Arianne introduced herself and got straight to her point: she explained that she was unaware of her father’s murder until a loyal noble smuggled her mother a message. Ellaria had already spread the rumor that Arianne and Quentyn had perished, and that more than once assassination had been attempted on both the person of herself and her brother, as to ‘legitimize’ her rule. _Centuries of rule by house Nymeros-Martell will not die by treachery and betrayal, _the woman said, _surely you understand this, Daenerys Targaryen. _

If nothing else, this distant relation had impressed Daenerys with her conviction. She looked up at Quentyn.

“Is that so?” Dany quirked her brows, “And what, other than her loyalty can she offer me?”

“Much, Your Grace. Dorne has remained distant from the conflicts of our Northern neighbors and so we can field men and resources that my father took care to stockpile over the last few years.” _This is how you negotiate, _Dany thought. “We simply need assistance removing Ellaria from power without drawing the suspicion of the spies she no doubt has.”

“Very well,” Daenerys said.

“Your Grace is merciful.” She watched as Quentyn knelt. She took in the lines of muscle she spotted in his neck, caught a glimpse of his broad back and imagined his face in between her—

“Does Princess Arianne have a plan?” She flushed a little red, embarrassed that her lusts had lead her down such a train of thought. _Has it been that long since I’ve been satisfied? _

“Arianne does not wish to cause needless alarm and bloodshed. We have no desire to hurt the Dornish people.” Quentyn explained, “My sister wishes to carry out a coup under cover of darkness. Our spies tell us that Ellaria has chosen to stay at the Water Gardens, as she is unwelcomed in the capital.”

_So, her grip on Dorne was tenuous at best, _Daenerys thought, annoyance causing her fingers to twitch, _and yet the Spider assured me that she was the best Dornish ally I could have had. _

“That is wise of your sister, Prince Martell.”

“House Nymeros-Martell has ruled Dorne for centuries,” Quentyn said, “Although the nobility thought my father was passive, they respected his abilities in governance and the smallfolk loved him. The guards at the Water Gardens stood back and watched as their sworn lord was murdered by a bastard with no claim to the throne and we intend to answer injustice with justice.” _How similar those words are to my own_, Dany pondered.

“I understand that a younger brother was amongst the murdered,” Daenerys’ voice was soft and sympathetic. “You have my condolences.”

“Trystane was the best of the three of us. Kind and noble.” Quentyn allowed pain to show on his face, dark eyes glistening briefly with tears that he blinked away in the next instant. “He did not deserve his fate, especially at the hands of kinslayers.”

“…I see.” Daenerys stood, “You shall have a hundred of my Unsullied. I suspect that you will not even need half of them, should your sister’s plan succeed.”

“…” Quentyn peered at her for a second, as though examining her, and then a grin crossed his face, revealing two rows of white teeth. “The Queen is indeed generous. I shall write to my sister immediately.”

“Will you and your entourage remain here in Mereen as my guests?” It was phrased as a question but they both knew better. 

“Guest?” Quentyn’s lips trembled, as though he were trying to decide whether or not to laugh, “Hostage, you mean.”

“You are only a hostage should the Princess Arianne joins my enemies or throws away our deal. My elite soldiers in exchange for her fealty and resources.” The Queen descended the stairs leading from the throne, fingering her dragon necklace. When she reached the bottom she found that she only came to Quentyn’s chest: she wondered if it were scarred like his nose. Intelligent, dark eyes met suspicious violet ones, and Quentyn complimented,

“A queen and a conqueror, but a pragmatist as well.”

“I am learning.” There was jest in his tone but Daenerys did not feel as though he were mocking her. The Queen clapped and servants arrived: she ordered, “Show Quentyn and whatever entourage he possesses all the hospitality of the Queen of Mereen.” The servants bowed, beckoning Quentyn to follow. He glanced back at her with thinly-veiled interest, a little shudder of delight going up Daenerys’ spine even as her face remained impassive.

She needed to take a bath. A long, cold bath.

(…)

“Oomph!”

Whatever delight Dany had felt earlier in the day was beaten out of her by Daario: she went tumbling into the sand of the training pit, her silver braid unraveled, her pale skin dirty and bruised. Her ribs were probably a patchwork of black and blue at this point. Daario loomed above her, slight approval in his eyes at her drive. A fresh cut bled on his cheek and he complimented, 

“You managed to get me with the arakh several times.” He gestured to fresh scratches on his armor. “But your form with the sword is still poor, Daenerys.”

“It is not for a lack of trying.” Daenerys spat sand out of her mouth and looked up at Daario, sweat dripping from her hairline onto her face, the strands stuck to her forehead.

“Then we shall drill you until you can swing it like you’re supposed to.” Daario gripped Dany by the back of her tunic, hauling her off of the ground and helping her back to her feet.

She panted heavily before getting back up, the light, thin iron sword Daario had given her to practice with flashing in the sunlight, the small arena filled with the song of steel as they clashed again. By the time Daario called it a day, the sun was sinking beneath the buildings of Mereen and Dany could do naught but limp, sore and stinking back to her bedchambers.

There a bath waited for her, a servant offering a massage and the Queen eagerly accepting.

When at last the Mother of Dragons drifted off to sleep, she found herself in a great throne room. But it was not the Iron Throne, as she had so often heard described.

Instead there was a throne, forged of dragonglass, towering above all else in the room. She reached out towards it, finding it warm and smooth to the touch. Distantly she could hear the roar of dragons and silently wondered where she was and why. Turning away, she now found herself on a balcony. The distant cry of a dragon echoed in the air and she looked up.

Two dozen dragons flew out over a pristine, beautiful city, the multi-colored sails of trading galleys in a blue-green harbor. Below, in this courtyard, she could spot servants and royalty making their way across the space.

Many of the richly dressed had silver-gold hair.

_Is this the future of my dynasty? _She thought. _Where is this, anyways? _

King’s Landing, perhaps? In the future. She turned again, the image shifting to a great gray castle encased in ice. In the center nested a dragon: it was pure white with bright blue eyes. For a terrifying moment, she thought that she was again looking at the dead Viserion.

But something was different.

A girl with silver hair to her waist wearing red and black approached the dragon, and pressed her hands against its snout. It affectionately pressed back against her, using its great wing to shield her from a sudden gale. She turned to Dany and the woman was taken aback.

Gray eyes. _Stark eyes. _

Something in the Dragon Queen’s stomach turned and she felt ill. _My daughter? With Jon Snow? No. I will not allow it. He will never have me again. _

Again, the scene changed.

Back to the throne room. Someone sat upon the throne, a strong young man with silver-white hair and dark eyes. His countenance was serious but his gaze hopeful. Dany frowned before hearing what sounded like a bell.

When she turned around, she found many stone statues. All of them had distinctly Targaryen features. Dragons etched upon their clothing, into their crowns. At the head of the room was a statue of herself, as she was the fateful night that Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal had hatched, clinging to her naked flesh.

_My descendants, a legacy of a thousand years, _she finally realized. _Those who will come after me. _

When Daenerys awoke the next morning, it was with a smile. She did not feel so alone, not anymore, now that she knew that more would come after her. _I will no longer be the last Targaryen, in time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I reevaluated what we know about Quentyn in the books and the sort of consort Dany needs, I realized I would have to take a lot of liberties. As much as I hate to admit it, his characterization is dull. 
> 
> Events in Vanity of Vanities are going to pick up starting next chapter. For those of you wondering, Part 1 is going to cover Dany's conquest and all of that, while Part 2 will cover her children and the children of the noble houses that survive her arrival.


	4. Part I, Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such foresight that life already lived gives us. How deadly those who call us friend actually are.

**HEARTHFIRE, 303 AC**

**MEEREEN, ESSOS**

“And Mereen shall not want for wealth?”

“No, Your Grace. And with the trade flowing in, the treasury should be back to its normal level in the next few months.”

“Wonderful…as you were.” Daenerys nodded before dismissing the treasurer from her unofficial study. She peered down at the parchment before her verifying that she would be settling the Iron Bank’s debt. It was a sacrifice, but she would stifle Cersei Lannister’s means of negotiations by settling the debt and then requesting that the Bank not intervene on her behalf.

Surely, they would agree, particularly when they were reminded of her disastrous regency. Endless war did not allow for effective collection of tax and gold. She gazed down at the books on her desk, all listing what assets she had available to her in her treasury.

“Missandei.”

“Yes?” The young woman appeared and Daenerys instructed, “Send an invitation for the Iron Bank to Mereen: please ensure that a small ‘gift’ is sent along.” Missandei nodded and went off to carry out this request. _Cersei’s sacking left Highgarden destitute,_ Daenerys thought, resting her chin on her interlaced fingertips, _virtually worthless by the time that the sellsword High Lord got to it. _

The debt had topped out to 12 million gold, with interest. Daenerys was awestruck by how badly the Usurper’s regime had messed up when it came to this. Their Master of Coin had either been a genius in deception or a complete buffoon. _So much for being better than House Targaryen,_ the young woman mused, before rising from her desk.

“_Mhysa_.” One of the pages, a little boy with rounded cheeks and amber eyes, peeked shyly into her study.

“Come, come.” Dany’s lips split with a smile: he was still so reserved. The smile wavered as she thought of children incased in ash and flesh toughened by unyielding flame. But she managed, faintly, to keep her composure. “What is it, little one?”

“Lord Ty…Tyr…” The boy frowned, thin brows furrowing, then said, “The half-man wishes to see you.”

Daenerys laughed to herself, realizing that the child couldn’t pronounce ‘Tyrion’.

“Tell him to come now, for I have other matters to see to.” The boy bowed, scurrying off. As he drew further and further away, the benevolent expression on her face faded to a more pensive one. _I’ve put off seeing my former Lord Hand this long. _

One part of Dany wanted for there to be an accident and for the man to be thoroughly out of her way. But they hadn’t betrayed her. Not yet. So instead she would keep him close, observing and waiting to see what happened. If he behaved, she would simply dismiss him when the time was right. And if he didn’t…

They would cross that bridge when they got there, wouldn’t they? Tyrion arrived moments later: clearly, he had been waiting for his chance.

“Your Grace.”

“Tyrion.” Dany gestured for him to sit and the Westerosi got straight to the point.

“If I didn’t know any better, Your Grace, I would believe that you had no intention of setting out across the ocean at all.”

Dany ignored Tyrion’s cheek but instead took a long drink of her wine. She put the goblet aside, explaining calmly, “I am merely ensuring that our loose ends are tied up.” She fixed her gaze ahead, on the lattice windows that allowed sunlight to stream through the room, “I find myself increasingly intolerant of surprises as of late.” Her tone must have been hostile because out of the corner of her eye she could see the dwarf squirm, his gaze quickly averted from her form. “Meereen is a place that I have come to care about, deeply, and I wish to ensure that strong infrastructure is left in place when I leave.”

That had meant nights of poring over records of past governments, chugging invigorating tea and hoping that her sleeplessness couldn’t show on her face (it did, in the form of purplish bruises and bags: Missandei fretted over her and would not-so-gently bully Dany to bed when she felt the woman had been up too late). How had she been so foolish as not to study systems that had worked before just deciding to up and leave, in that past life? She was slowly closing in on a system that should work, at least until the people of Mereen were fine enough to rule on their own. The checks and balances would need to be ironed out, but no system was perfect and Daenerys was forcing herself to accept this.

_Breaking the wheel is impossible, _she thought. _Tyrion in that other life had only managed to institute yet another wheel and call it progress. But steadying the ship…might be more realistic. _

“When I return to the Six Kingdoms, I wish for as smooth a conquest as possible.” Dany clasped her fingers and gave him a long look. _Bloodshed will still happen. It is the nature of man as much as kindness is. _

“The Six Kingdoms?” Dany picked up her goblet again, ignoring the statement. But his mastery of tact deserted him. “Your Grace, there are Seven—”

“I understand the North has declared independence.” She poured another cup for herself, not even bothering to offer to refill his own. “Therefore, I shall take the Six Kingdoms.”

“The North…”

“Can have their independence.”

“Your Grace, there are resour—”

“…If I would like your opinion, Tyrion Lannister, I shall ask for it.” She coldly informed him, lowering the cup from her face. Her lips were stained red from the wine, her eyes narrowing in the shadows that the afternoon glow had cast across the upper half of her body. The violet almost seemed to glow in the dim and Tyrion fell silent, suddenly unnerved. “I have not forgotten the bedlam that I found Meereen in when I returned, although I shall claim much of the blame for the instability that plagued it beforehand.”

_I must be willing to admit my faults, _she told herself, standing. It was almost like a mantra. “So, I must carefully consider my moves in the future. You do understand this, do you not?” She placed the now-empty cup on the table, the clink softly resounding in the quiet room.

“…Yes, Your Grace.” She could see the wheels turning in his head. _How best to salvage this partnership_, he must be thinking.

“…You are dismissed, Lord Lannister.”

The Imp hesitated but departed quickly: Grey Worm arrived as he departed, dark eyes sweeping across the man’s form. A flicker of dislike appeared in coal-black eyes but vanished soon after. The Unsullied leader presented himself to Daenerys.

“_I have consulted with the Dornish Prince_.” Dany interlaced her fingers and watched as he lay out a map. “_Ellaria Sand has taken refuge at the Water Gardens as he mentioned, and likely has many guards_.”

“_How many Unsullied do you believe should go?_”

“_One hundred, Khaleesi_.” Dany touched the map. One hundred. She had eight thousand Unsullied: that would not even be a tenth of her forces. It was a gamble, but not nearly as big a one she had taken when she ventured to the North. Taking a deep breath, she inquired,

“_Have you chosen who shall go?_”

“_I have. And they have chosen a leader from amongst themselves. They shall follow Princess Arianne’s command_.”

“_I have a letter for the leader to deliver to Princess Arianne_.” Dany withdrew a scroll from her dress, where she maintained secret pockets in the trousers beneath. “_Tell her that it is a…personal request, from one ruler to another_.”

“_It shall be done_.” Grey Worm accepted the parchment from Daenerys, then, after a moment, asked, “_Can we trust the Dornish_?”

“…” Dany took a deep breath. “_I bank only on House Martell’s loyalty to House Targaryen and our shared, distant blood. It is a gamble, but one I hope that will not come to hurt me in the end._”

* * *

As Daenerys returned from her afternoon training, she walked alone in a long corridor, the room painted in soft shades of gold and pink from the dying sun. Her hands no longer ached from the training, her body no longer felt as though it had been battered and thrown from a pyramid. She was slowly growing accustomed to the grueling regiment that Daario put her through.

Her eyes dropped down to inspect a callous she felt forming on her right palm, only to freeze in terror.

Blood. Blood sticky and copious and red dripped from her hand. But it was no hers, oh no, it soaked through the skin and was reflected in her other hand. She raised her hands to her face, white with terror, a soft cry uttering forth from her lips as it slid over her bracers and pooled beneath her, the dripping deafening in the abandoned space. The Queen of Mereen sunk to her knees as the scent of ash and fire permeated her nose, distant screaming in her ears.

_ BURN THEM ALL. _

Daenerys let out a scream and shut her eyes, clapping her hands over her ears.

_ I WILL NOT!_

When she opened her eyes again, looking at her hands, she found them unmarred and clean, save the dirt from the training pit and the callous from earlier.

_I have been saved from that past life_, she thought, _and yet it clings to me like miasma. _

Slowly she picked herself up: grateful that no person had come rushing to see what the matter was. She couldn’t bear explaining what was on her mind now to anyone, save Missandei perhaps. She looked down at her feet, feeling weak, but slowly began to put one foot in front of the other. The nauseated feeling she had slowly vanished and she soon found herself in her chambers; upon a table near the window were stacked several books. Missandei looked up from where she was placing the last one:

“You’re back.”

“Yes, after Daario treated me like a training post for the day.” Not bothering to change out of her training garb, Dany set heavily in the chair. “Is this everything?”

“It is, Daenerys. Are you sure you would not like my company?”

“No, no, go and relax for the rest of the afternoon. The centermost atrium is free if you wish to spend time with Grey Worm.” Daenerys eyed the volumes of history and politics, “I have studying to do.”

Missandei nodded, before leaving. As her footsteps faded, Daenerys smiled slightly before picking the first dusty old tome off of the pile and opening it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Next update for Vanity of Vanities will be Saturday afternoon.


	5. Part I, Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal daughter returns to reclaim what is rightfully her own.

FROSTFALL, 303 AC

THE WATER GARDENS, DORNE, WESTEROS

Before she had retired that evening, Ellaria Sand had redoubled the guards around the playhouse of the Dornish high lords.

She had received Lord Varys earlier that day, and looked forward to cementing her alliances and strengthening her powers.

Yes, the Lords of Dorne grumbled, but with them believing Quentyn and Arianne dead, what choice did they have, other than struggling amongst themselves? Let them whisper it was treason, she preferred to call it revenge. Doran was a weak ruler anyways, preferring to hide here than take revenge for his brother. The assassins she had paid off would soon do their work: there had been rumors flying about that the rightful heir to the Dornish throne was in Lys, biding her time.

Outside of her bedchamber, where the dry, cool desert air blew, she heard nothing but the soft splash of the manmade waterfall, the distant bark of a dog, a chime. Her eyes closed so that she could get some rest but then rapidly reopened: she could hear what sounded like a scuffle. A guard? An animal?

There was a pounding against her door and then it flew open: she shot up and out of bed with a dagger in order to confront her assailant, only to face a man in unfamiliar armor. His entire faced was covered: the only thing that the illegitimate ruler of Dorne could see was his eyes.

“Guards!” The Sand screamed, striking out at the intruder with her dagger, only for him to quickly disarm her and drag her, kicking and screaming, out of the bedroom and across the mosaic tiles of the water gardens. In the darkness, all around them, there was pandemonium, guards in black armor with no discernable sigil expertly dispersing of Ellaria’s men. Her captor roughly gagged and secured her hands behind her back, dragging her to the main courtyard, where torches had been lit. She recalled it as Doran’s favorite place to sit and watch the children frolic about the Water Gardens.

Obara, Nymeria and Tyene had also been subdued, bound and dragged here: their eyes burned with anger at these strange men who had invaded the Water Gardens and assaulted their persons.

A figure walked up to the exact spot Doran’s sedan chair had once occupied and pulled a dark hood back from their face. All struggling ceased as Ellaria and the Sand Snakes recognized, shadow from the fire casting shadow across a beautiful face.

Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne. Like her brother, she was dark of skin, hair and eyes, but her features were sharper and she was more beautiful. But her eyes…those were the eyes of the Viper, narrowed and filled with hatred.

“I harbored resentment towards my father, it is true.” The beautiful young woman poured wine for herself, wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders and framing her face. “And I do think he should have been more assertive. But imagine my shock when I discovered he was dead. And at your hands too!”

There was a mocking note in the woman’s hand: she walked over to Ellaria and sipped the wine, before inspecting it and pouring it over the woman’s head, the alcohol getting into Ellaria’s eyes and stinging them. When the cup was empty, she repeated the process with the wineskin, until nothing was left. “My father loved you as family. We loved you as family. And yet…you acted so cruelly towards us.” Arianne clicked her tongue before throwing the goblet at Obara: it struck the eldest of the Snakes in her temple, wringing a grunt from the warrior woman.

“I must admit, dear Ellaria, the only thing saving you from a traitor’s death for now is your father. No doubt he shall beg for your wellbeing after the crime of murdering your rightful Prince and usurping the throne.”

Dark eyes turned from Ellaria to Obara, and where she was cool and mocking before, Arianne’s began to burn with hatred and resentment. “And you.”

Obara glared up at her older cousin, Arianne striking her across the face. “A thousand cruel deaths I could conjure up and not one would be enough for your crime of taking my sweet Trystane’s life.” A cruel smirk crossed Arianne’s face, “…But I believe that your sentence shall be enough for now. Dearest Quentyn came up with it when we heard the news, clever man that he is.” She turned to one of the few Dornish men in her entourage, “Fill the abandoned well outside with the venomous snakes we brought from Lys. And then throw Obara in. Seal the top when you are finished. She shall nourish her murderers. Perhaps we will find her skeleton when we open it…in three months.”

Obara struggled against her captors, screaming behind her gag as she was dragged off: Ellaria resisted the urge to faint right there and then. Arianne sat upon a chair brought out for her, as she admitted, “I’d have killed you too, Nymeria but I’ll make an example out of you yet…”

The youngest girls. Her girls. They had been sleeping peacefully not too far away…Ellaria’s eyes darted towards the nursery and Arianne assured her, “They are safe. I would not hurt my own blood without just cause.” In a soft, nearly mocking voice, she whispered, “We do not hurt little girls, in Dorne. Or did you conveniently forget that after killing poor Myrcella Lannister?”

Ellaria sobbed, knowing that her fate with would be a painful one.

“I have recalled Sarella from Oldtown as well…apparently she thinks your whole plot was folly and vanity. Thank the gods she inherited sense from the milk of her mother.”

The Princess, now seated, lazily gestured for the Unsullied holding Ellaria down to remove her gag. Although as soon as her mouth was freed of any impediment, the Sand screamed,

“Your Highness, have mercy, I—”

“Mercy?” Her eyes glistened, but not with sadness. She rose out of her seat, chest heaving. Arianne Martell had already cried all the tears she had to give, poured her sorrows out into an endless, cruel abyss. All that was left was determination, single-minded pursuit of her goal…and black rage.

Fortunately for Dorne, all of it was centered on the lying, conniving shrew currently sobbing like a child.

“My mercy bled to death as Doran and Trystane Martell did. Guards!”

The men stood at attention.

“Take Ellaria and Tyene back to their chambers. As for my sweet cousin Nymeria…throw her in the latrines for the night.” A cruel smirk spread across the heir to the Spear Seat’s face.

All three women were dragged away, screaming and struggling. The rage that bubbled up quieted as their presences faded. For now, she would grant the request of the woman who had allowed her this first victory on the road to reclaiming her birthright.

The man thrown before her was soft and plump: his bald head glistening in the firelight. He was dressed in opulent dressing robes and seeing him brought to her chest a dull ache, faint memories of a beautiful woman with a frail appearances and laughter that rang through the halls of this very palace.

“Varys. The Spider.”

“Your Highness.” He licked his dry lips, wetting them. “It is an honor to be—”

“Save your flatteries, I don’t want them.” The princess pulled out a small scroll from her dress and peered at it, “You had a role to play in the deaths of my aunt and cousins, but my business is not with you.”

“I did not realize you were still alive, Your Highness.” A lie, a lie from the mouth of the ultimate lie smith. _No wonder Daenerys hardly trusts him. _The Princess laughed, but humored him, letting him pour out his excuses. “If I had known…”

“You would have what?” She cocked her head at him, “So valiantly given me passage from my hiding places to Dorne?” She scoffed, and shook her head, “Illusions work on the stupid, _Spider_. I would like to believe that I am not counted amongst their number.”

“And what is to be done with me?”

“Your mistress has requested that I detain you.” Arianne relished the expression of utter shock that crossed his face, “Although she has not explained why, in her letter, I am sure that the Queen would not be so mad to level false accusations. Perhaps it is for your own safety.” _More likely it is that she has taken into account your ability to survive such drastic regime changes. _Before he could speak, she turned to the Unsullied,

“Take our Lord Varys away and have him watched. Her Grace would be quite upset were anything to befall her **loyal **spymaster, yes?” He was stoic as he was led away, the Princess of Dorne at last allowing herself to relax. With her prisoners secured or sentenced to their fates, she told her men and Daenerys’:

“At dawn we ride for Sunspear. My people will know that their daughter has returned.”

* * *

As the Princess had declared, dawn brought a procession, the sun and spear of House Martell flying high passing through the gates of the Water Garden.

As they rode by a well, a wooden cover sealed by tar over the stone, a single hole in the top, Arianne smirked as a little scream filtered through the prison. The remaining Sand Snakes and Ellaria rode in a wagon, chained and gagged, while Varys had been cosseted away in a covered litter. He was not her prisoner to show off.

Hours later they arrived in Sunspear to great rapture and acclaim: the people of the city lined the street to cheer their returned Princess, who soaked up the energy in the air. She rode side-saddle on a sorrel stallion, hair dripping with jewels, her silks the finest money could buy. She looked more a triumphant goddess than a returning ruler, but then again, spectacle could make or break a man, let alone a woman.

As the procession wound its way through Sunspear’s labyrinthine streets to the Old Palace, Arianne’s mind turned and twisted. Was her brother alright, in the Dragon Queen’s care? She had already sent a messenger to deliver the news of her triumph to Meereen. Quentyn’s strength was his quiet, stolid calm and his hidden cunning. As long as he kept his wits about him, he would survive the belly of the beast, she hoped.

As they passed under the shadow of the gates of the Old Palace, Arianne’s eyes burned, from the sun, from the dust, or perhaps even from the tears she could feel bubbling up. The prodigal daughter was home at last, and she scarcely waited for a stable boy to bring a stool before she had handed the reigns off to a squire and descended, accompanied by her loyal men and the Unsullied.

The gold and finery she wore was thrown into a bright light as she entered the Tower of the Sun. Before her was the Spear Seat, atop its dais. Her heart hammered in her chest and the footsteps behind her finally stopped as they respectfully waited for her to be seated.

It was like another, more intimate sort of homecoming, when at last Arianne Martell sat, eyes shutting, hands gripping the arms of the seat that had been her father’s, her grandmother’s and generations of Nymeros-Martells. When she opened her eyes, Damon Sand rose from his kneeling,

“Your Highness?”

“Word has been sent to the Dragon Queen of our triumph.”

“Then you shall declare for her?”

“Not until she has set out to Dragonstone,” Arianne declared, “No doubt the lioness shall be informed of our activities and I am willing to dangle an alliance to distract her until our true Queen arrives. Perhaps the promise of Ellaria Sand’s head will distract her. Cersei is cunning, but impatient.” She rested her chin on her hand, “Instead, I will summon all the lords of Dorne, here to Sunspear, to swear fealty.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

There was work to be done, Arianne mused as one by one, she delegated tasks. But it would be quite the adventure, doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will honestly never understand how the nobility of Dorne was just okay with Doran being murdered. In the books, he's physically impaired but he isn't stupid or even disliked by his nobles or his people. He's secluded himself to hide his gout but he clearly isn't trusting governance of his family to others or anyone incompetent. My theory is that Dumb and Dumber tried to amalgamate Arianne's story into Ellaria's, but A) Arianne didn't want Mrycella dead, and B) she DEFINITELY didn't want her father or her brother dead, despite the animosity due to a misunderstanding between father and daughter. So when they tried to take that route for Ellaria in the show it made NO sense and turned what is one of the most fascinating plots and kingdoms in the books and turned it into a dumpster fire. 
> 
> I LOVE Indira Varma, but man they wasted her talent. She actually voiced one of my favorite Dragon Age characters, Vivienne!


	6. Part I, Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bank will always have its due.

**FROSTFALL, 303 AC**

**THE GREAT PYRAMID, MEEREEN, ESSOS**

For as valuable the Iron Bank could be as allies, or at least as economic partners, dealing with them was like dancing with an assassin. Who knew when something better would come along and they would grasp opportunity greedily with both hands?

Dany put on a smile as Tycho Nestoris walked alongside her through the corridors of the Great Pyramid, “Your gift to us, Your Grace, was generous. We have long desired…a return on our Westerosi investments.”

“The Iron Bank is one of the most formidable forces in the known world.” _I was a fool to not consider them before_. The Queen clasped her hands, “It would be foolish of me to not consider the lucrative partnership that could come of our joined hands.”

“A wise choice, Your Grace.” They shared a smile, footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

“As a result of our deal, I would like to request a boon.”

“Surely not another loan?” He gave her a look, dark eyes craftily looking her up and down. Dany smiled, and shook her head, silver bells jingling as she did so. She was hardly foolish. They paused in their walk along the corridor, near a corner, and she explained:

“I will soon engage in a war, my good sir, to reclaim my family’s seat. As you can imagine, the person who sits on the Iron Throne will approach you for your generous assistance.”

“Ah, yes, Cersei Lannister. We admired her father, Lord Tywin.”

“Yes. Although I am afraid, she did not quite gain his cunning, she certainly has his tenacity and ambition.” Tycho raised his brows.

“You wish for the Iron Bank to decline Cersei Lannister aid?”

“It would be a fair compensation, would it not?” Dany smiled again at Tycho, although it was less a gentle gesture and more a baring of the fangs, her violet eyes catching the light of the sun. The emissary didn’t know whether to be impressed or fearful. “The Iron Throne has suffered from years of mismanagement and corruption, and Casterly Rock is dry. Where, Lord Nestoris, would she find the coin to pay you, without tearing her lands asunder once again? The other kingdoms resist her rule and many of her allies are dead. I will be funding my own campaign and take with me to Westeros a treasuries’ worth of resources and wealth, all without bankrupting Meereen. Once peace is established in the Six Kingdoms and commerce is allowed to flow, the Bank will always be welcome to do business with the Crown.”

Tycho studied her for a long, long time.

Here was this girl, scarcely more than twenty, speaking as though she had a lifetime’s worth of knowledge. At first, they laughed, when a messenger arrived, declaring that the Queen of Mereen wished to entreat, having heard of the disaster at the fighting pits. But all laughter had stopped at the five wagons of gold, with the promise of more, that had been wheeled into the Bank’s courtyard.

Tycho decided to make his choice.

“The Iron Bank looks forward to the long and prosperous reign of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of her Name. You are far wilier than we gave you credit for.” He bowed, Daenerys inclining her head in turn.

“I must bid you a farewell, Lord Nestoris, but you are welcome to my hospitality until your ship is ready to return you to Braavos.”

“Your Grace is generous. Although, I do have one final question.”

“Yes?”

“You said **Six **Kingdoms. I was under the impression that there are Seven.”

“Ah, yes.” Someone finally had the gall to say it to her face. “It seems as though the North has declared independence. I will allow them this: The North is not worth enough economically for me to waste valuable time and resources on what could be a war of attrition on land they know better than I or any of my allies. I have larger concerns than a frigid wasteland.” _And besides. If the dice is cast in the manner, I anticipate they will be, we shall see a united Westeros again. _

“I see, Your Grace.” He bowed again, “I shall leave, now.”

Daenerys watched him go before letting out a soft sigh and making her way to her study.

Her shoulders slumped a smidgen when she saw the books on her desk. _Did I not commit myself to study, _she thought, sliding her thumb against the worn spine of an ancient tome. There was no reason to complain.

And what was to be done about Varys? Tyrion? The former could not be trusted. She would have to wait for Arianne’s official word from Dorne, but she suspected he was already spinning his little web in an attempt to escape his ‘confinement’. _The Spider has few options, but if he goes for the one I expect…_

It was cruel to suspect a man who had technically done no wrong. But Varys’ continual survival of one regime after another was indeed…suspicious.

Then there was the matter of a consort. Daenerys knew that she would have to marry again, to produce those heirs whose glorious future she had glimpsed. But finding the **right **consort, who did not balk at the idea of being the quote on quote ‘submissive partner’ in the relationship. _The right man will be a partner, period. _

Despite all the thoughts rolling in her head, the Queen of Meereen smiled, no smirked a bit and chuckled to herself. This was quite the grand adventure, the second time around.

* * *

It was as Quentyn enjoyed an afternoon meal and reading of a book he’d swiped from the Great Pyramid’s library that Cletus Yronwood burst in, red-faced and excited. Thrusting a small roll of parchment into his prince’s hand, Quentyn tossed the book aside and broke the spear and sun seal upon it.

_Arianne_.

The Prince of Dorne read in silence, the grin on his face growing larger and larger, wavering briefly before he leapt out of his seat and grabbed Cletus,

“She has done it! A Martell sits in the Spear Seat again!”

“Thanks be to the Seven!” His bosom friend took the paper from his hand, hazel eyes scanning the page: soon his grin matched that of Quentyn’s. “You should tell the Dragon Queen.”

“Tell her what?” Gulian Qorgyle was next to enter, and he took caught sight of the written words. He nodded, “Ah. I understand.”

“I have no idea where she is, however. This pyramid is no better than a labyrinth.” Quentyn paced anxiously for a moment. _Did this mean that Arianne is alright? Has she already administered justice upon Ellaria Sand? _

“There is another letter here, Quentyn.” Cletus’ lips twitched, “But it is specifically for Daenerys.” Quentyn glimpsed it: like his own piece of correspondence, it was topped with the sigil of House Martell.

“Then I shall deliver it to her.”

“Will you seduce her in the process, Quentyn?” Gulian grinned at Quentyn, nudging his friend playfully, “I have not missed the longing looks you direct her way.”

“I do not desire to be consumed by the dragon’s flames. And if half of what I have heard of the queen is true, she will be swayed by no mortal man like myself.” With that, he decided to check the Queen’s study, leaving the snickering Gulian and the smiling Cletus behind.

Fortune smiled on him for Daenerys was there, staring down at a map. As he drew nearer, he could see that it was King’s Landing. _She is studying her options, _Quentyn realized. Taking King’s landing was tantamount to taking the throne and by extension, the key to the Seven Kingdoms.

“Your Grace.” The Queen looked up at him and his heart stopped a moment. Daenerys’ hair was unbound, for the first time since he’d arrived in the pyramid, and she wore a loose robe. He could glimpse the inner sides of her breasts, and the beginning of a scar near her ribs. He tried not to frown.

_Who did that to her?_

“Prince Quentyn.” Her eyes fell to his hands. “You carry news from your sister?”

“I do.” He smiled, “I am pleased to tell you that Arianne Martell now sits in the Spear Seat of Sunspear.”

“Wonderful.” Daenerys flashed him a smile, which turned to an expression of confusion when he handed his sister’s correspondence over. The Dragon Queen broke the seal, violet eyes scanning the contents. “…Your sister tells me that Obara and Nymeria Sand have been put to death, but Ellaria and Tyene remain imprisoned.”

“Likely so that she has time to work out a deal with or pacify Lord Uller.” Quentyn met Daenerys’ eyes and he explained, “The Ullers are considered half-mad…Arianne does not to provoke a rebellion so soon after her ascension. And with the lion whore on the Iron Throne…”

“…She intends to use Ellaria and Tyene as bait.” Quentyn raised his brows in surprise. Daenerys handed over the letter, and he saw her words to be true. Arianne explained that until Daenerys arrived in Westeros, she would distract Cersei with the head of her daughter’s murderer. He pressed his lips together.

“Myrcella Baratheon…Lannister…whatever her name was. She did not deserve to die. From Trystane’s letters, I received the impression that she was a sweet girl.”

“Girls are just pawns in the wars of powerful men.” Daenerys spoke quietly, and tiredly, “I would know. I have great pity and sorrow for Cersei as a mother, in that regard.”

“You have lost a child, Your Grace?”

“When I was very young. A witch killed my son in the womb and placed my husband in a state worse than death.” If there were tears in her eyes, she blinked them away quickly and raised her head, “But there shall be more. I will ensure it.”

“I see.” Quentyn was silent for a moment, his dark eyes sliding over the intricately drawn map. He rested his finger on the Red Keep, and he observed, “…Cersei may not fall for Arianne’s ruse.”

“Cersei believes herself much smarter than she actually is. An illusion I have never been under in regards to myself.” Daenerys finally sat, looking up at Quentyn. “We shall take her pride and humble her before she faces the Queen’s justice.”

“She would not be foolish enough to attack Dorne.”

“Dorne is near impossible to attack from the sea. And to attack by land is a madman’s game. Cersei will know better to waste resources in a guerilla war on the lands the Dornish know well.” Dany opened up a book to a page on families in the Reach. “And there is no one in her possession that she can use as hostage.”

“Meaning my sister holds all the cards.”

“She does.” Daenerys smiled, “She is a sharp woman and has recognized this.”

“Arianne was the smartest of us three. The most like father in mind, if not in temperament.” Quentyn bowed to Daenerys, “I shall leave you to your work now, Daenerys.”

“Thank you, Quentyn…” He was nearly out of the door when the Queen called for him. “Wait, Your Highness.”

“I am here.” He returned to her side, bending slightly when she pointed something out in a book to him. 

“Are you well-versed in the familiar of this area of the Reach?”

“History is one of my favorite subjects,” Quentyn admitted, “If it would please Your Grace, I would be happy to assist in your studies to know Westeros’ better.” Daenerys appeared to war with herself, pink lips pursed, eyes narrowed. She was silent for several moments before nodding,

“I would be in your debt, Your Grace.”

“Then we should begin with the fact that the great houses of the Reach all claim descent from the same man, Garth Greenhand. Whether or not he was truly real is up for debate but…”

Their voices wafted like smoke through the halls and into the dying afternoon light outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt a bit like filler, but it's probably because I devoted a lot of my energy for the day to writing the plot points for the rest of Part I and parts of Part II. I drew inspiration from other stories for what happens later on, in addition to a very particular YT video later on and I will address those stories/video when I get to those plot points. For those of you who crawl the BAMF Dany tag you might know what I'm talking about.


	7. Part I, Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragon becomes a cat, and from beyond the shadow, a curious being.

**FROSTFALL, 303 AC**

**THE GREAT PYRAMID, MEEREEN, ESSOS**

“I imagine your sister hates Ellaria Sand with her entire being.”

There was something funny, seeing Tyrion’s expression after being informed of Arianne’s plans to distract Cersei Lannister. It made Daenerys wonder what the Imp really thought of his vitriolic sister. It made her understand him and pity him in a way. _We all want to be loved and acceptance. I craved love and acceptance as a drunkard craves spirits. _She sucked in a sharp breath and looked away. Tyrion finally spoke, some strange cross between amusement and trepidation in his voice.

“You are less a roaring dragon right now and more a cat playing with a mouse.”

“An apt descriptor.” Daenerys rose from her chair, fingering a sticky date between her fingers. She nibbled on the edges, pacing the floor in her pretty silken slippers: the last few days she’d been often wearing leathers and boots, making herself accustomed to such heavy clothing. _I will need it, _she thought. _When we go to Westeros. When I go North, on **my **terms. _“Your niece was unjustly taken from this world. As a mother, who loves her children, I understand Cersei.” _More than anyone will ever know._ “But she is, at the end of the day, my enemy. And she is not as clever as she believes herself.”

“On that, we agree.” Tyrion got out of his chair, peering up at Dany. “…Would you like to be alone?”

Daenerys raised her brows. Usually she dismissed Tyrion. “Yes, thank you. I shall see you at dinner.” The dwarf inclined his head and departed.

_What to do with Tyrion? _

He ultimately loved his home and his loyalties and abilities became muddled when his family was involved. _Did I not waver where Viserys was concerned, before? _The Mother of Dragons let out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping, running her fingers through her hair. _Sometimes I wonder if it were just easier to stick to what I thought I knew was best…_

“Daenerys?” The queen let out a hum of acknowledgement as Missandei entered the room: the interpreter leaned towards her, “There are two individuals looking for you. A Red Priestess and her hooded companion.”

“A Red Priestess?” The ‘hooded companion’ was an unknown, but the presence of one of the followers of R’hllor was a more interested factor. What would bring them here, aside from the fire they had in common? She met them in an antechamber: the Red Priestess looked little older than herself, with long, dark red hair and bright red eyes. There was a wry smile on her face and she greeted, dropping into a graceful curtsey,

“Mother of Dragons.” The hooded figure did the same.

“To what do I owe the honor of a follower of the Lord of Light gracing my halls?” Dany sat, gesturing for both women to sit on chairs brought by servants.

“The Lord of Light has shown me that you are what you are. But that you are also with the foresight of another life. Daenerys Stormborn?” Daenerys sucked in a breath, eyes widening ever so slightly. _This woman knows of my rebirth_. “Do not worry, Unburnt. I am here to serve.”

“Serve? Why?”

“Because you are the Prince Who Was Promised. The one sent to flood the darkness with light. The one who the Lord of Light snatched back from the yawning maw of the abyss.” Although the Red Priestess spoke carefully, there was something in her relaxed posture, her bright eyes, that made Dany convinced she was telling the truth. Once upon a time, it would have bolstered her confidence, but now Dany was less certain. Was she some sort of ‘chosen one’ or had her life been a series of happy accidents?

“Are you the only priest who feels this way?”

“No.” Kinvara’s eyes glittered, “I, the First Servant of the Lord of Light have hundreds of Red Priests and Priestesses at my disposal. Servants that can spread the news of your strength, kindness, and fair rule.” _Propaganda_, Daenerys thought, resting her chin on her hand. _Words can be as powerful as any dragon or sword…weren’t words what ultimately put a knife in my chest? _

“…Send your people across the Narrow Sea, to King’s Landing, to Oldtown, to Gulltown and Lannisport.” It was an acceptance of Kinvara’s help. “Help those who suffer under the lion’s rule. Ensure Cersei’s crimes are known, and that someone better is on the way.”

“Your will shall be done.” Kinvara’s smile almost seemed to glow. Dany hoped that she was less burn-happy than other Red Priests and Priestesses she had heard of, but that was a risk she would have to take. Leaning back in her seat, she looked over, attention now on the hooded figure.

“And who is this?”

“This?” The hooded figure stood. They were small, shorter than Kinvara, nearly level with Daenerys. They raised gloved hands to their hood and pulled back. A wiry mess of long, dark hair spilled out. Her skin was as dark as a Summer Islander’s, their eyes a bright orange, the bright color making her angelic features rather startling. Full lips curled into a smile as she knelt before Daenerys,

“Hail, Mother of Dragons. I am Corinth-of-the-Shadow.” Daenerys frowned: although her voice was that of a woman’s, low and velvety, Corinth looked little older than six and ten.

“So you are from Asshai?”

“Do I look Asshai’i?” It was a retort, yes, but less annoyed and more good-natured. _Corinth. I cannot even begin to pinpoint what sort of name that is._ “Let me put it this was. I was born beyond the Shadow Lands. But no, I am not Asshai’i.”

“And what are you?”

“Some call me a witch, or a maegi. Others call me a sorceress. I have gone by many names, and many more titles.” Dany’s blood ran cold at that, but Corinth went on, “What I am, in truth, has long been lost to the ages, and so I prefer to be known as a keeper of knowledge.”

“…A maegi stripped me of my husband and my first-born son.” Dany’s fingers squeezed the arm of her chair, agitation prickling her skin, “You will forgive my reluctance to trust another one.”

“I know the sins of Mirri Maaz Dur.” Corinth’s voice was less commanding and charismatic than Kinvara’s, more maternal and softer. It echoed around the room. “And your child was an innocent. She was a woman twisted by pain and hatred, none of which was your fault. But her magics are not mine.”

“And what are your magics?”

“Magics long gone from this world. Magics only read about in the most obscure and ancient of tomes.” Daenerys watched Corinth smoothly rise from the ground: Corinth held her hand out. The Queen leaned forward, the air briefly shimmering in the palm of Corinth’s hand before a serpent of shadow and fire slid down to the floor, coiling and hissing before sliding about the room. Just a word was spoken and the creature vanished in a cloud of smoke and ash.

Kinvara turned to Daenerys, “Corinth is very old, Your Grace. And very powerful.”

“By the rising of the sun and the flowing of the tide, Your Grace.” Corinth stepped forward and took Daenerys’ hands. Corinth’s were soft, but cold, in comparison to Daenerys’ warmer body temperature. “My magic, my knowledge and my loyalty are your own.”

Daenerys hesitated. Could she trust this woman? _What reason would such a powerful woman have for choosing to follow me? I know nothing of her, but she appears to know much about me. _Yet another unknown factor. She glanced back at Missandei, wide dark eyes searching her own before nodding gently. The Mother of Dragons nodded, and stated, “I will trust you, Corinth.”

“Good.” A smile spread across Corinth’s face. “…I shall craft for you a talisman. There is an entity who seeks you out.”

“The Three-Eyed-Raven. Bran Stark.”

“Yes…and no.” Corinth released Daenerys’ hands. “They are not one in the same. In your past life, the Three-Eyed-Raven snatched Bran’s body from him.”

“So there never was a Bran Stark.” Daenerys laughed bitterly. How overjoyed Jon had been to see his brother again. She wondered if he knew that the boy was a husk. For something ancient. Something malevolent.

“There is one. In this world. And he currently fights for his own existence.” Corinth smiled, and patted Daenerys’ cheek. The gesture seemed patronizing but Daenerys did not feel as though it was. It was comforting, rather. Almost as though Corinth were attempting to convey to her that everything would be alright. “You have given Bran Stark a second chance, by changing the future irrevocably.”

_The future has changed? _Daenerys sucked in a breath, her eyes widening ever so slightly. _The future has changed. Because of me. _It produced a warmth in her chest, a happiness that tingled throughout her entire body.

“You have an ally within the Starks, Your Grace. But it is the unlikeliest one of all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter, I apologize! 
> 
> Corinth is actually a reskin of an OC I used in my role-playing days. I love the fact that magic is not a clearly defined system in GRRM's world. It's sort of like: does it exist? Does it not? Was magic much different in the past? What were ancient magic-users capable of? Who knows. Also I believe that 'Bran' was in fact the Three-Eyed-Raven possessing Bran's body at the end and I will die on that hill. What will the actual Bran think of Dany? Who knows. I'm still waffling on several plot points, including what to do with Tyrion. I have several ideas but it could go either way at this point. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	8. Part I, Chapter VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen of Thorns meets the Daughter of the Sun.

**FROSTFALL, 303 AC**

**SUNSPEAR, DORNE, WESTEROS**

Dorne was hot, and dry. On principle, as a Reachwoman, Olenna Tyrell held little care for the southernmost Westerosi kingdom, but as a grandmother, and as a Dowager of a family nearly wiped out, she felt oddly relieved to be here.

The invitation had arrived to Highgarden three weeks hence, as the Queen of Thorns had been looking into arranging suitable nuptials for her grandson.

_It is your leg that’s lame, not your manhood_, she’d told her remaining grandchild. Aside from Margaery, clever and kind Willas had always been the one to handle her particular brand of speech the best, and he’d managed to disguise his laughter as a cough. After what had felt like ages, they settled on Elinor Tyrell. Witty, pretty and bright, she would make an excellent counter to Willas and a jolly Lady of Highgarden. Of course, they’d had to break her betrothal to Alyn Ambrose, but that was easily taken care of by arranging a marriage with another Tyrell relation.

He had already ordered the return of all Reach Lords from King’s Landing, and thus far used the excuse of his ‘ill health’ to decline going to King’s Landing to bend the knee. In reality, he had ordered the silos dotted across the Reach filled, with winter steadily approaching, and ensuring his troops had what they needed to defend their lands, should anything come to pass. There was little Cersei Lannister could do to push him into going to the capital, and so, for now, Willas Tyrell was safe.

Willas admitted his hesitation in seeing his grandmother off: she recalled how on the morn of her departure from Highgarden, the young man had frowned visibly and reminded her to take a ship with no discernable sails. “_Cersei Lannister is a crazed animal disguised as a woman._” His pine-green eyes fixed upon hers, “_She’ll do anything to lash out at you, now that her allies dwindle_.” 

_Well, _Olenna thought, as she was helped out of the carriage within the courtyard of the great Martell palace, _At least Willas possesses the discernment and acumen that his poor brother never seemed to have. _A twinge of sadness radiated through her frame. Olenna paused just outside of the door of the throne room. She so rarely allowed her hurts to show in public. Grief, an old friend, had died with the last tears she’d allowed herself in the privacy of her chambers at Highgarden, and now was replaced by the black void of rage. Not once did she regret poisoning that mad little brat Joffrey to death. Not for a moment. He’d have been no better than Aerys, had he been allowed to grow up unchecked. Even Tywin Lannister’s control over him had been loosening. And her poor Margaery, for whom she’d done it.

That was then. This was now. Olenna straightened up and the doors opened.

Light flooded the room, shining down on the ancient thrones of House Nymeros-Martell. Arianne Martell stood from her throne, descending from the steps: She wore dark mourning clothing that showed off one of her arms, golden jewelry glittering from her ears and wrists. Her hair had been cut to her chin, framing the heart-shaped face of the young Princess. A smile appeared across her face.

“The Queen of Thorns.”

“The prodigal daughter.” Olenna observed, “I was under the impression that Ellaria Sand sat in power: imagine my surprise when an invitation came from Doran Martell’s daughter instead.”

“Ellaria Sand aspired to much more than she could handle.” With a smooth gesture, she led Olenna to an antechamber. Servants seated them before Arianne dismissed them with a lazy wave of her hand. The Princess then poured her guest a great helping of wine, to which Olenna laughed,

“You intend to get me drunk, Your Highness?” The Dornishwoman gave a wicked smile,

“I find that the most unpleasant of topics can be offset by a pleasant haze of alcohol. Seven knows I saw the bottle of a wine bottle before I was able to break the news of my father’s death to my mother.” Olenna accepted the glass, taking a sip. _Arbor Gold,_ the woman thought.

“The news of the return of Arianne Martell has slowly but surely spread throughout the land. The Red Keep stands anxiously to see what the Reach and Dorne will do.”

“Cersei Lannister has no rightful claim to the throne. Gods know she doesn’t have the capacity to rule either.” Arianne set down her cup, “And pray tell, why would **any **Martell bow to the daughter of Tywin Lannister?”

“Not a lot of options, at this point.” Olenna watched Arianne carefully. To see if the rumors were true…

“There is one.” Arianne pulled out a letter bearing the seal of a three-headed dragon and handed it to Olenna. Breaking the seal, the former Lady of Highgarden stared at it. It was the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen. She spoke of sympathy for her lost family and equal hatred of the Lannisters. Of promised revenge and the promise of eventual peace, should she join her banners. Olenna finished reading, and peered at Arianne,

“I see you’ve already chosen a horse to back.”

“I owe my current throne to Daenerys Targaryen, whose forces so generously assisted in my coup.” Arianne leaned back, “I believe her the best option for lasting peace in the Seven Kingdoms…and revenge for our loved ones that we have lost.” Olenna gazed silently at this young woman, who so confidently spoke of their need for an alliance. The tiniest smirk pulled at the elderly woman’s lips.

“Only a Lannister could drive the Reach and Dorne to cooperate.” A servant arrived with a tray of figs, cheese, and other fruits, before quickly departing. “Cersei is frightened, now. Backed into a corner. There are rumors swirling of her past misdeeds and it will cause her to lash out. Especially now that her children are gone.”

“Ah, but it is precisely this that makes Ellaria Sand the perfect bargaining chip.” Arianne picked up a slice of cheese, examining it. “While I risk antagonizing Harmen Uller, dangling my uncle’s dear paramour will distract her for a time. And she cannot risk a war with Dorne, one that she will very clearly lose. And with the Crown’s debt paid by Daenerys Targaryen, she cannot approach them for help…they have not forgotten the years of her Regency that has passed with nary a cent paid on their demanded interest.”

_Cutting Cersei off from the resources of the Iron Bank, _Olenna thought. _Intelligent. _“…Your mind is like that of your father’s and your uncle’s. You think in a maze, Princess Arianne’s.”

“I have learned much from my time abroad. Time to cool my nasty temper.”

“Your Highness!” A young girl hurried in and curtsied, before handing off a tiny scrap of paper to the Princess. Arianne told her to wait before unfurling the paper, a little smirk creeping across her face.

“…At last, he has made his move.” Arianne stood, ordering the girl, “Track down these little spies of Varys’. We will have answers from them for why on earth he needs to get out communication.”

“Oh?” Olenna was surprised, “The Spider is a guest of yours?”

“A request from the Queen,” Arianne explained, making her way to the door. Olenna rose and followed her host. “She has taken into account the…rather sudden regime changes he has constantly survived and asked me to…host him.”

“Detain, you mean.” The women traveled from the antechamber to the study of the prince: only a cat occupied the room and was shooed out by the princess.

It took less than an hour for one of the little birds to be found, the letter taken from his grubby little hands. Arianne did not believe in the killing of children, but they were trained, and they were dangerous: the guards were doubled around Varys and only trusted soldiers were to deliver his food. Let him stew in anxiety.

“The second child was not found?”

“No, Your Highness.” The soldiers before her gave a grimace. “We apologize.”

“Bah. It can’t be helped. You are dismissed, ensure no one disturbs Lady Olenna and I.” Arianne undid the letter and gave a little laugh. “…This was to go to King’s Landing. To Cersei Lannister, telling her of Daenerys’ plans to take Dragonstone.”

“He must be truly desperate, to be reaching out to the Lioness.”

“Perhaps hoping for clemency or haven.” Arianne put the letter aside, “I shall tell Daenerys of Cersei’s betrayal immediately. I imagine her rage will be unimaginable when she learns of this.”

“I shudder to imagine what she will do to him when she finally arrives.” Olenna couldn’t summon it in herself to feel much pity for the eunuch. Hadn’t he played the competing factions for the throne against one another for years? Driven the Mad King further into the depths of his insanity by encouraging suspicion of his son, his wife, his subjects? _He has finally reaped what he has sown, and those around him have wised up to his slippery ways. _

“Whatever she does to him, it will never be enough to make up for what was done to my aunt and cousins.” Arianne sank down into her chair. “But enough of the Spider, Lady Olenna. You and I have that disgusting topic of speak of: logistics.”

“If what I believe is to come eventually manifests, dear Arianne.” Olenna sat in the chair before the Princess’ desk, “Logistics will be like a pleasant summer’s day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many thoughts and feelings about the underutilization of the Tyrell family. Which sounds ridiculous, given their role in the show. But there's so many characters missing. The Tyrell family was MASSIVE, why would Olenna believe her line is completely gone? There are loads of Tyrells in the book, why the fuck did it go to Bronn? Watch his ass get assassinated by the HUNDREDS OF FAMILIES THAT HAVE BEEN THERE FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. Garth Greenhand, anyone? Of all the dumbass choices Tyrion has made, that really takes the cake. I can smell the Reach civil war from here. Also, why on earth was the heir of Highgarden allowed to be kept in King's Landing with everything going to shit? If you're going to combine character stories, have it make sense. Olenna would have noped out of there with Loras/Willas, whoever he's supposed to be ASAP at the first sign of trouble. Why was HIGH GARDEN, one of the largest and most magnificent castles in Westeros reduced to something that looked like it came from the Norman Conquest? Furthermore, where was the Dornish/Reachman animosity? That's such a point in the books. Ugh. 
> 
> Anyways, sorry about the shorter chapter for the new year. My week was chaotic and I barely got any writing done, but hopefully, next week's chapter will be much longer!


	9. Part I, Chapter IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essos has never been home for the Golden Company.

**SUN'S DUSK, 303 AC**

**MEEREEN, ESSOS**

Daenerys’ heart swelled as she saw her children take to the skies, the armor hardly impeding their ability to glide gracefully throughout the air.

She wore her own new armor: it was black, with the Targaryen heraldry etched into the breastplate. She held her helmet under her arm, her Valyrian steel sword tucked away in a sheathe to the side. Next to her, she could sense Missandei’s shared sense of relief and joy: on her other side was the woman who had made such wondrous things happen.

“Your Grace.” Corinth turned to her: she had changed her duty traveling clothes for a dark dress with a hood: the only ornamentation she wore was a single chain. Daenerys had thought it some sort of unknown precious stone, but upon looking closer, she realized the distinctive, folding grooves were Valyrian steel.

_“I could synthesize the material,” _Corinth said, when she had asked. _“Such knowledge has not been completely lost to our world._”

It had taken nearly three days, but the blacksmiths had gaped in shock when Corinth emerged from the forge: inside was enough molten Valyrian steel to craft what the Dragon Queen required. It made Daenerys curious to the origins of this arcane mistress…it made her wonder what secrets yet rolled around in the woman’s mind.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, Your Grace.” Daenerys turned and smiled: Quentyn had arrived himself, cheeks dimpling with a grin at her. Corinth politely stepped off to the side when he came to join her, watching her dragons in flight. With a laugh in his voice, he said, “They seem to enjoy their new armor.”

“They know that I have prepared it for their protection.” Violet eyes were bright with anticipation. _Let Cersei Lannister’s bolts pierce my children now…if she has the resources to build them at all. _“I only pray it is enough.”

“It shall be.” Quentyn gave Daenerys a gentle look when she locked eyes with him. “I am a mere mortal man with none of the magic in my blood that you can boast, Daenerys Stormborn…but I can feel it in my bones.”

Quentyn had…settled nicely into Daenerys’ life over the past few weeks. He was a patience, if thorough teacher, drilling the lessons of Westerosi politics into her head with a focus only masters could manage. When she inquired after his education, he admitted he’d spent time at the Citadel after his fostering came to an end, in an imitation of his idolized uncle. He toyed with the idea of becoming a maester, but his father called him home: he had other plans for his firstborn son.

She was not so naïve that she called what the sensation blooming in her chest ‘love’, but she felt more than the mere bond between teacher and pupil or queen and subject. And yet there was something missing…

_The dragon has three heads._

“Your Grace.” A servant was hurrying away from Missandei, who leaned in, “There are emissaries here to see you?

“Surely not from Astapor or Yunkai again?” The other cities were reluctant to try anything again: news of how she had negotiated with the Iron Bank had given the former masters pause. _But they will try something again once I am gone, _Daenerys thought, and so she had made provisions to arm the slowly manifesting army that protected Meereen now.

“No, Daenerys.” Missandei gave a look. “But the Golden Company.”

_The Golden Company? _She frowned. How easily they had been turned to kindling under the dragon fire in her past life. She swallowed the nausea that bubbled up from memories of the massacre of King’s Landing, quieting the voice of her mad, decrepit father that echoed in the back of her mind. Her dear friend saw her hesitation and put a hand on her own, softly asking,

“Dany?”

“I am fine, sweet Missandei. Tell the leaders of this company that I will grant them an audience in the throne room.” Missandei nodded and hurried off to arrange what was needed: Daenerys watched her go. _Viserys courted the Golden Company, once. But they ate his food and they mocked him as the Beggar King. _

But she was not Viserys. She was something more. Something stronger. Her negotiation powers were far greater than her weak, mad brother’s had ever been.

“The Golden Company? Founded by our blood.” Daenerys raised her brows: she hadn’t realized Quentyn had overheard the conversation. “They are ten thousand men strong…and you might be able to use your Targaryen blood to your advantage.”

“Aegor Bittersteel founded the company, didn’t he?” Daenerys gestured for Quentyn to follow her on the way back to the pyramid: he fell into step alongside her as Drogon passed overhead. The dragons landed near the blacksmiths: she soothed them over their bonds enough that the men were able to get in close and remove their armor. Drogon growled and grumbled at the unfamiliar people, but did nothing to harm them. As they ascended the steps, Quentyn confirmed, 

“My lessons are sticking. But yes, the Company has its roots in the Blackfyre rebellion. A bastard house, but a house of Targaryen blood nonetheless. Ten thousand men swell their ranks.”

“I’d rather not bankrupt myself hiring their company…or worse, indebt myself to the Iron Bank.”

“You may not have to.” They paused, just before they entered the pyramid proper. Daenerys could not help but notice how the light caught in Quentyn’s eyes, making the dark pools appear almost brown. “Many of the Golden Company are exiles or sons of exiles. If you grant them pardons…a way to return to Westeros…”

“…I might achieve an army for cheap.” Daenerys lips curled as she saw the Dornishman’s thinking. She smirked at him, “And you said that your sister was the political one, Quentyn.”

“I try,” he bowed a bit, “If I am here, a member of your court, my queen, I may as well make myself useful.”

“_Your Queen_?” She put her hand on his cheek, greaves ghosting the smooth russet skin. “I am surely flattered.”

“…” Quentyn gave her a look that was at once smoldering and shy, before turning away and walking into the pyramid. If her heart thudded in her chest, she chose to ignore it, composing herself before following.

* * *

Daenerys chose to meet the captains of the Golden Company in her armor.

They looked upon the suit of Valyrian steel and were in awe: she had been swirling a wine from the Summer Islands in her cup as they were announced and escorted into the room. She drained the cup before setting it off to the side: a page arrived quickly and brought it out of the room. The Captain-General stood at the forefront of the assembled men, a host of about 20 commanders…and a rather curious and young manwith blue hair. Alongside him was an older, more world-weary man. Although they did not look much like one another, she suspected they were father and son.

“I did not expect the Golden Company on my doorstep, Captain Strickland.”

“Our arrival is…quite sudden.” Daenerys placed a hand on her chin, feigning boredom, even as her gaze swept over the room. By her side stood Missandei and Grey Worm, and outside, Drogon’s distant cries could be heard. “We beg Her Grace’s pardon for the rudeness.”

“You are not raiders or the enemy. As long as your presence does not disrupt my people, there is no pardon to be begged.” She smiled at him. “But I am curious to what brings such an esteemed company to my doorstep.”

“We wish to offer our services. All ten thousand of our men to your cause.” Daenerys raised her brows.

“A generous offer. But you see, Captain Strickland, I have no desire to bankrupt my treasury to hire even more soldiers.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers together. “However…I can offer something else.”

“Oh?”

“I understand there are Westerosi exiles that swell your ranks.” At this, Strickland perked up a bit. “…Perhaps if their services are rendered, I may be so inclined to dispense…pardons?” It would be a complex situation. She would not permit those who had committed grievous sins to run amok like wild animals of course, but some of these men had likely simply taken the wrong side in Robert’s Rebellion or run afoul of some lord or lady with greater powers than they. _Nothing is black and white, _she mused.

“…” Strickland’s lips twitched. He was considering her offer, even if he might not agree to it, and that was enough to open the avenue of negotiation.

“Your Grace.” The man with the blue hair stepped forward. Now that she could see him better, she saw that he was battle-hardened: the armor he wore had been buffed and cleaned, likely for this audience, but it was covered in scratches, and the sides were dented. His skin had been browned from the sun. His face was beautiful, his eyes a blue…indigo? Surely the bards would sing of his jaw and his aquiline nose.

Her mind wandered back to the vision she had glimpsed, of Rhaegar in the House of the Undying, and Daenerys resisted the urge to sit up in shock, but she kept her cool.

“And who are you?”

“They call me Young Griff, Your Grace.” He bowed, and Strickland gave him a side-eye, but otherwise said nothing once it was clear that he’d gotten the Queen’s attention, “Many men in our ranks simply desire one thing: a return home. And we are willing to serve to achieve this goal.”

“…Would you consider that their route home will be payment for the services rendered to me?” Daenerys knew of the army’s history but she felt like prying and pushing just a bit. “Hardly any company considers a promise **payment**.”

“The Golden Company is not like any other sellsword band in this world.” He spoke smoothly: nothing like Quentyn’s baritone, but it was as though he were weaving a pretty song for her with his words. _Like a poet in a warrior’s body_.

“…Does the Company come with its own provisions? The logistics of my armies, and the armies of my allies, have already been considered.”

“We do.” Daenerys’ gaze swept across the room. There was something…curious about the commanders. You would think they would fuss over practically having their services offered up for free. And yet…there was an understanding. Her gaze wandered back over to Young Griff, who peered up at her, confident. She stood, and made her way down from the throne. The metal clicked and clanked in the quiet of the room.

“We will negotiate a contract. But I ask that your men conduct themselves civilly while in my city. Should they be found guilty of any crimes, whether it be thievery or murder or rape, it is my dragon’s fire they will meet as their punishment.” She paused next to Young Griff, but looked over at Captain Strickland. “The men in this room are welcome to remain as my guests, while we work out the finer points of our arrangements, and will receive the full hospitality of Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Your Grace is generous.” Strickland bowed, and Daenerys departed without another word, Missandei close by. When they were far enough from the room, the Queen ordered,

“Go to Corinth. Ask her to investigate Young Griff and his ‘father’ for me.”

“You believe he harbors ill intentions, Daenerys?” Missandei truthfully spoke, “He seemed…persuasive, but not necessarily bad, to me.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Daenerys paused, in a small alcove. From beyond the windows, she could see her fleet’s sails being raised. The red dragon on the black background gleamed proudly in the sun, and her chest swelled as she considered what was at stake. Her heart was in her throat, “I am not suspecting him of knavery or ill-deeds, Missandei, I merely have a suspicion.”

“…I trust you, Daenerys.” Missandei nodded before hurrying off. The commanders of the Golden Company were now leaving the throne room, and Daenerys watched them trickle out. Young Griff, alongside his father were amongst the last to leave, and their eyes met from across the hall.

The young man’s lips curled into a smile, and he tipped his head, ever so slightly. It made Daenerys’ stomach turn in a manner that was not entirely unpleasant.

_This Young Griff is more than he seems…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't even BEGIN to bitch about the Golden Company's complete irrelevance in the show because my complaints will be longer than the chapter itself and I'll send my blood pressure up again. Chapters will be longer from here on out: I have more time to write due to cutting back work hours and returning to school (most of my work is done on a computer anyways). Also, Aegon has officially entered the picture! We'll be FINALLY heading to Westeros in less than ten chapters. Are ya'll ready for that after so much build up?
> 
> I am also on a Star Wars kick: I read a Reylo fic unironically and now I am hooked on the one and only Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. Maybe I'll write some OC/Kylo smut if I finish this week's chapter ahead of time...2020 is the year of creating whatever the hell you want to create, people!


	10. Part I, Chapter X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mother cannot guide her children if she herself is blind.

**SUN'S DUSK, 303 AC**

**MEEREEN, ESSOS**

Much like the night of the great storm when she had been returned to her body, Daenerys Targaryen sat up, sweating and straight, in her bed.

The evening was cool, the pyramid quiet, the distant sounds of a slumbering city the only things she could hear. With a soft groan that left her lips, Daenerys turned in the bed and got out, careful not to let her feet fall too hard on the stone floors. She padded out of her bedroom proper and onto her balcony.

_This time I will be out here alone. _Missandei was sound asleep, likely by Grey Worm’s side. She was not envious of the love her friend had discovered, but elated that they would receive the happy ending they had cruelly been denied. That Missandei would be happy. _As she deserves to be. _The Dragon Queen smiled to herself, but it faded, in favor of trepidation that slowly crept into her bones. What had her so anxious? So ill-at-ease? Was it the Golden Company’s presence in her city? Surely her dragons could roast them alive, should they turn on her, as in the past life but…

_King’s Landing lay in ashes, the charred corpses of innocent babes littering the streets. _Daenerys took a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly violet eyes opened back up and she stared at the moon. She couldn’t fall to that insanity again.

She considered going to find Quentyn, but he was likely taking his rest as well.

Was Westeros worth it? All of this trouble she was going through? She didn’t know anymore, and the doubt was robbing her of sleep and rational thought.

Now that sleep had evaded her, Daenerys dressed, simply, and walked from the pyramid to her dragons’ nest. The few who were awake at this dim hour ignored her: silver white hair had been covered by a hood and her arakh glinted on her hip. She was no seasoned warrior, but she could now cut a man’s hand off in a carefully placed swing and that was enough.

To her surprise, when she came to the nest, there was already someone there.

Corinth was gently stroking Rhaegal’s snout, humming a soft song to the half-asleep beast. _Few people are able to approach my dragons…who is this maegi? _

“You cannot sleep, Your Grace?” Corinth turned to face her, orange eyes glinting in the moonlight. Daenerys managed a half-smile and shook her head,

“Slumber eludes me. I thought I might come here, to seek comfort from my children.” Daenerys settled herself in Drogon’s curled-up form: his eyes opened briefly to see that it was his mother. He let out a contended purr of sorts before returning to his slumber, “I did not realize you might be here.”

“Forgive me, Daenerys Stormborn. Seeing your children makes me…nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic?” _Perhaps now,_ the queen thought, _I might get answers out of you._

“For a time when dragons dominated the skies above Essos.” Corinth stepped away from Rhaegal and sat upon a bolder: she waved her hand and a small ball of light appeared, illuminating the previously dark space. “It has been so long since Valyria fell…”

“I thought they were the only children I would have.” _A pristine city, a line of silver-haired rulers. This is my destiny. _

“…Something troubles you, my Queen?”

“…I know so little about my children.” She stroked one of Drogon’s scales. “I feel as though I am a bad mother. I am…ashamed.” Could she have prevented Rhaegal and Viserion’s falls in that last life, if she had known more? She knew they needed riders, that much was clear.

“It is through no fault of your own.” Corinth gave her a gentle, almost maternal look. “Valyria fell long before you were born. And the Targaryens failed to pass certain knowledge on to their descendants…but then again, given how low-ranking they were…”

“I have heard we were not one of the more powerful families.” Daenerys frowned, and suspiciously looked at the maegi, “Do you know anything about Valyria, Corinth?”

“…” The woman narrowed her gaze, before smiling, more to herself than at Dany. In a rather cryptic voice, she opined, “…I know more than you. Whether or not I know a substantial amount is up to interpretation. If you desire…I can teach you. About Valyria. About dragons.”

“You can?!” Childish enthusiasm slipped into the young woman’s voice and she quickly stood, rushing over to Corinth. The darker woman looked up at her with surprise, a half smile on her oval face, but she said nothing as Daenerys rambled on, “H-how? Why?” Daenerys grew guarded, and she looked Corinth up and down. “What price to do you demand?”

“None at all,” Corinth said. “To teach you is no loss or boon to me. You are the only one in the world who lives and can benefit from what I have to teach. There are echoes of the dragonlords in your Prince Martell. And a ringing from the one who calls himself ‘Young Griff’.” Daenerys perked up at this, but put that away for later. For now, her dragons were the priority. Corinth stood, and she put her hands on Dany’s shoulders, “But Daenerys Stormborn, Valyria sings in you. She gives a mighty lament, wondering if her great legacy will die with you.”

Daenerys pressed her lips together. She could deny the witch. It appeared that Corinth would not hold this against her. But her heart, her gut…it said to press further. See what it was, the mysterious knowledge this strange woman claimed to have.

“…What must I do?”

“You must deny yourself the Iron Throne for a while longer. What I have to teach you, the place I must **take **you…” The Dragon Queen sucked in a breath; eyes wide.

“…Valyria. You mean to take me to Valyria.”

“Where better to learn of the Valyrian dragons than in their very home?”

“There are different sorts of dragons?”

“There is only one way to find out.” Corinth took her hands away from Dany’s shoulders, and said, “Think long and hard, Daenerys. Once you journey down this path, you cannot turn back. Not without consequences that could affect all that you hold dear.”

Corinth departed, her footsteps echoing on the stone ground. Daenerys was left, no closer to sleep than she had been, and a great deal to think about.

Knowledge had been dangled before her. Ever since she had begun to actually study, to apply herself, a voracious hunger for further learning had taken root. She would read as she ate and drank now, there was now a perpetual pile of books alongside her bed. If experts came to her court, she would ask them endless questions. _Has this maegi done this on purpose?_

She settled herself back in Drogon’s safe ‘embrace, Viserion crawling towards her so that she could gently caress his snout.

* * *

In the end, she got no sleep.

Daenerys dragged herself to the training yard just after dawn, groaning when she saw the smirk on Daario’s face. Her hair was messy, pulled back into a singular braid, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She was even more pale from the lack of sleep, and a dried piece of horsemeat hung from her mouth. She was less a great conqueror and more a bedraggled ruffian right now. To her surprise, however, Young Griff and Quentyn were there with him, both men shirtless.

The Targaryen woman was too exhausted to flush or smirk at the sight, instead she groaned,

“If I told you that your training sessions could go hang, would you grant me that mercy, Daario?”

“I would be a terrible teacher if I allowed you to slack off, Daenerys Targaryen.” Daario’s dark eyes twinkled, his lips twitching. He was entirely too happy for how early it was, too full of mirth at her display of exhaustion. “Fortunately, I will not be your sparring partner today. I believe it is time that you faced off against a different fighting style.” The Tyroshi mercenary looked over at the Dornishman, who gave Daenerys a kind smile, deftly twirling a spear with two prongs.

“I will be sparring against Quentyn?”

“Not everyone fights like me. Of course, there is a criminal lack of variety in Westeros, particularly in the Northern regions, but better to be prepared for anything than unready to face what could be.” Dany pulled out her sword and her arakh. Quentyn towered over her and she searched, covertly for any weaknesses. Did he favor any sides? Was he more of a right-handed man or a left-handed one? She was so consumed in her thoughts that she only just managed to block Quentyn’s first swing.

“You are distracted, Your Grace.”

“And you surprised me!” She shoved the larger man off, letting out a quick gasp of breath: he moved with surprising agility. _It reminds me of Khal Drogo_. Quentyn was an unflinching, unyielding opponent: the training yard rang with the clash of metal as he managed to get her good with the blunt part of his spear once or twice. Tomorrow, bruises would bloom on her ribs and legs, but her blood ran hot at the prospect of her new opponent.

Quentyn managed to swipe his spear under her, but she jumped, lashing out at him despite her unsteady landing: her blade caught his cheek and a thin cut appeared. The Dornishman’s eyes opened up wide and a savage grin lit up his face. Twirling her arakh as she blocked a blow with her sword, she ended up dropping her curved weapon and landed a fist in his stomach.

Quentyn, shocked, let out a surprised gasp, only for Daenerys to kick his crotch. The russet-skinned man sank to his knees with an audible groan, and Dany held her sword against his neck, pressing gently into the skin.

“Yield.”

“You hardly play fair, Your Grace.” Quentyn’s voice was edged in some pain, and Daenerys felt just a bit of guilt, but she had learned that when one was in a corner, they used all of their resources and exploited weaknesses. Just like how Daario never relented when it came to her training.

“All is fair in war.” Pulling her sword away from his neck, she held out a hand to him. His larger one reached out and grabbed, and she hoisted him up from the ground. Still in pain, Quentyn hobbled back to the bench, accepting a drink from a waiting servant. Daario clapped slowly as he approached, and snorted,

“I did not expect that, Daenerys.”

“Which is precisely why it worked.” She smirked at her teacher and former lover, “Haven’t you thrown dust and sand in my eyes for the last few months?”

“When you put it like that, I sound like a monster.”

“I’ve never fought with a spear user.” Dany and Daario looked up, Young Griff had approached Quentyn now, twin axes clutched in his hands. “Would you grace me with a spar, _Your Highness_?”

“I feel like you’re mocking me.” Quentyn swiped a cloth across his sweaty brow, but looked at the shorter and more lithe man. “But I accept.”

“Oh?” Daenerys folded her arms and moved off to the side as Quentyn retrieved his sword and walked with Young Griff to the center of the yard. “This should be interesting.”

They met in a furious clash, more intense than Daenerys’ bout with Quentyn had been. If Quentyn was amused, yet in control of the match, Young Griff looked like a snarling beast, his mirth clear to anyone that witnessed this display. The Queen wondered if he had some training as an acrobat: he flipped and parried, almost dancing. Perhaps more than that, now that the vigorous training had woken her up somewhat, Daenerys appreciated the musculature of the Dornishman and the mercenary. Daario suddenly said,

“I know that look.”

“Mmm.”

“You looked at me like that right before you…” He cleared his throat when she gave him a sharp look. “What I’m saying is that you are not good when it comes to disguising interest.”

“Quentyn has been my teacher, like you. And Young Griff belongs to the Golden Company.” _I can’t trust him. Not yet. Mercenaries love gold, no matter how this one professes their desire to return ‘home’. _They were closely watched, monitored by the ‘little birds’ that Missandei had managed to find and coax. With Varys still locked up in the Spear Tower, he was unable to get his little messages out.

She had boiled with rage when she learned from Arianne of his treasonous message to Cersei. It only confirmed what she had always known: he was a snake. Let him stew, or go mad from his imprisonment. Or better yet, let him try to escape. She had given Arianne free reign to execute him should he attempt to do so. The common folk would not weep at the loss of a slippery eunuch.

“Your Grace.” Kinvara approached, looking rather out of place in the training yard. She inclined her head, before revealing, “The first of the Red Priests have set out to King’s Landing.”

“Excellent.” Daenerys smiled a bit, but it faded as she thought of her doubts, which had so suddenly manifested. _Was King’s Landing worth it? Was Westeros worth it? Is there more? _

“Don’t you look down in the dumps.” Daenerys snapped her head up at Young Griff, who approached, Quentyn not far behind.

“If her regency is any indicator,” the Dornishman said, “Cersei Lannister will make rash, uneducated choices that alienate her from the nobility and the people. Even in Norvos we heard of the chaos involving the Faith Militant.”

“Cersei is a paranoid, delusional woman.” Daenerys folded her arms again. _Could the same not be said about me, even now? How little I know. _

“But using the Red Priests to undermine her…” Young Griff rubbed his chin, where she could spot the barest hint of stubble. “Such a politically minded queen Meereen has.”

In the light, his stubble looked silver. _I wonder if my suspicions are true…_

“No, not really. I simply learn from my mistakes.” Her mistakes. Her trust in the ewrong people. Her single-minded goal. Her pursuit of justice and peace for all. _The Dragon has three heads. But one stands above the others. _Daenerys knew what she had to do, where her path lay from here. Never had it been so clear. Turning away from the small group, she ran off, ignoring their calls.

She found Corinth in a chamber given to her: the woman was gazing at a lit dragonglass candle, her eyes glazed over. As soon as Daenerys entered, she snapped out of it.

“Your Grace?”

“I will go with you. To Valyria. To learn what I must.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, things are going to get...very interesting. I've got a lot of headcanons about dragons and Valyria at large. We'll also see what's going on across the Narrow Sea and what happens when Daenerys delays her journey to Westeros...if she feels a need to even go after she begins her training. 
> 
> The Three Heads of the Dragon is still gonna happen, but to move forward, Dany needs to go back to where she came from. And don't worry...no man is gonna get in the way of her and her destiny :)
> 
> Also if you notice some grammatical errors and stuff, when I finish writing Chapter 11 this week, I'm gonna focus on fixing those :D


	11. Part I, Chapter XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long live the queen.

**MEEREEN, ESSOS**

**SUN’S DUSK, 303 AC**

Daenerys’ advisors were gathered into her chambers, waiting for her to speak.

The Queen of Meereen was staring at a map of Essos, focusing in particular on the shattered peninsula of Valyria, her lips turned downwards in the slightest of frowns. It was evident that she was very deep in thought to those in the room. The silver-haired woman raised her head after some time had passed, a resolute expression in her violet eyes. At last, she spoke.

“I must go to Valyria.”

The reactions ranged: shock on Tyrion’s face, anxiety on Daario’s, surprise on Quentyn’s. Missandei was the only one brave enough to ask,

“Valyria, My Queen? Why?”

“When Valyria fell, much of the knowledge that we have about dragons fell with it. Short of plundering the Citadel of Oldtown, which has only secondhand knowledge, I must return to the beginning. Where it all started.” There was a resolute expression on the young woman’s face.

“And what of the danger?”

“Corinth is to accompany me,” Daenerys said, and several gazes of utter distrust were directed in the direction of the maegi. The woman in question blinked back at them all, clearly unrattled by their hostility. Tyrion finally found his words,

“With all due respect, Your Grace—” Daenerys’ gaze snapped towards the dwarf, “The last time that you departed, the city fell into chaos.”

“I did not depart, Lord Lannister, I **fled**.” She straightened up, “And this time I do not flee, I will have a plan in place for the governing and stability of my city. With their fleets and armies decimated and my own forces strengthening, along with our burgeoning relationship with the Iron Bank, the masters of Yunkai and Astapor will surely think twice before trying to attack this place again.”

“If you are gone, then who will govern?” Missandei blinked at her, large, dark eyes confused. Daenerys smiled and turned towards her.

“You shall.” It was as surprising as it was not: Missandei was Daenerys’ most trusted servant and companion. Her friend. If the Dragon Queen were to have unwavering confidence in anyone, it would be the girl who had so loyally followed her for several years. “Before I leave on my journey, I shall have a council made up of learned representatives chosen by the people…all the people. Daario will assist you and Prince Quentyn, who has perspective on the politics of Essos shall advise you.”

It did not go unnoticed that she excluded Tyrion from this council. _Take a look at how he handled matters the first-time round, _Dany mused. _Had I not returned, Meereen would have been taken by the other cities of Dragon’s Bay. _But she moved forward smoothly, resting her hand on Valyria. “I do not intend to be gone for more than four moons. I have sent word ahead to our allies in the Reach and in Dorne, and I understand we are anticipating an arrival from the Iron Islands. I will instruct Missandei on my wishes concerning this situation and I expect for my council to support her.”

“And the Dothraki, Your Grace?” Tyrion frowned at her, “There is the fear that they could slide into their old habits if you are gone.”

“I shall speak personally with Khal Qhono.” Daenerys had considered this. She could not dissuade the Dothraki from all their practices. But she would make it clear that taking slaves and rape would be met with swift and brutal punishment, should she hear anything about it when she returned. “But let me worry about the khalasar, Lord Lannister: they will remain loyal.”

“And Lord Varys?”

“Lord Varys has taken ill,” Dany said, smoothly. It was half of a truth: he had apparently developed an ailment according to Arianne’s latest letter. _Perhaps a ploy to escape his imprisonment._ “And he is recovering in Dorne, as a guest of Princess Arianne.”

“Your Grace.” Kinvara had been a silent observer, but at last cut into the dialogue, “The first Red Priests have arrived in Westeros and shall do what they must…but my visions into the flames paint a grim picture.”

“…” Daenerys let out a quiet sigh and looked away. She felt terrible that she didn’t feel more pity for the Westerosi. The Reach and Dorne were in good hands, but she knew little of the situation beyond that.

How would the North fare, she thought, now that she delayed her journey. How would Jon Snow fare?

She had thought on the man, trying to determined if she still loved him, or hated him. But as time went on, she realized that she felt nothing for him. She didn’t care what he did, whether he lived or died, as long as he did not get in her way. _I once loved him, _Daenerys thought, _more than I believed that I loved anyone. But now I can only summon faint feelings of pity for him and his lot. _

When she went to Westeros, she knew she would face him again, and it inspired feelings of determination rather than fear. The threat in the North endangered them all, but the Night King was impeded without Viserion to bring down the Wall. This gave the North more time to prepare. _But Winter is still going to come. _

Daenerys realized she had gone some time without speaking and looked up, stating, “We will have another meeting in the evening…you are dismissed.”

* * *

**SUNSPEAR, DORNE, WESTEROS**

**EVENING STAR, 303 AC**

The throne room of Sunspear was filled with every lord of note, their conversations raising like a soft buzz above the gathered throng. The conversations stopped, however, once the door opened and Arianne Martell walked in: as she strode towards the Sun Throne, she was greeted with bows of respect.

She wore an orange dress with a golden sash going across it: a heavy, ornamented belt kept the outfit in place. Her hair, piled atop her head was decorated in a dripping veil of pearls and golden net, and when she finally sat, the room fell quiet. The nobles within who knew what was about to happen fell silent and Arianne called out:

“Several turns of the moon ago, my father was betrayed and murdered alongside his youngest son, and his seat usurped, with the guilty party stringing you all along, acting as though you were fools.” She clutched the arms of her seat, and continued, scrutinizing everyone, until her gaze fell on Harmen Uller, “Today we decide the fate of Ellaria and Tyene Sand.”

“Your Highness.” Harmen stared at Arianne. She remembered the reputation of the lords of Hellholt, but refused to back down. “You must be mad if you expect me to simply stand by as you execute my own flesh and blood.”

“Lord Uller.” Arianne told herself, over and over, _I must be strong. I must make them respect me. _“Ellaria Sand was the love of my uncle’s life. We regarded her as kin, as our own flesh and blood. Yet she so easily murdered my father. My brother. Areo Hotah. And Myrcella Lannister.”

The Lord of Hellholt could not do much to argue his case. Even now, the lords that Arianne had not contacted murmured: Ellaria’s guilt was beyond doubt.

“Even if I desired to, Lord Uller, I cannot save Ellaria nor Tyene from their fates. They will be beheaded, instead of hung, as I recall the affection I held for them in the past.”

“Your father was weak and complacent.” Harmen’s eyes blazed with anger, with the madness the Ullers were famed for. Arianne would have to use her next few words carefully: the last thing Dorne needed was a civil war. Standing, passion and indignant rage filling her voice, she demanded,

“And how do you know this, Lord Uller?! Was Dorne involved with the squabbles of our Northern neighbors? Were our armies dragged into the quarrel of Lannister and Stark, the War of the Five Kings that made a graveyard of the Riverlands? No.” Harmen visibly faltered. Arianne snapped, “It is true, that my father did not call his banners and march up to King’s Landing to demand justice for my Aunt Elia, who we all adored and her innocent children. It was because my father knew that we needed time. Time to build our strength, to deceive the Usurpers and his treacherous in-laws!”

A servant arrived, carrying a paper. It was yellowed with age, and signed by two men who no longer walked amongst the living. The Princess of Dorne stood, and pointed, “There is a contract, of marriage between Viserys Targaryen and myself.” The room exploded into a commotion, but Arianne ensured that her voice could be heard above the din. “Signed by Ser Willem Darry and my uncle, Oberyn Martell, standing in for my father, Doran Martell—who masterminded the entire plot.”

Arianne commanded the attention of the entire room, and she walked down from the great dais,

“My father loved this kingdom and was willing to play the long game if it meant that he would gain his revenge and his people would remain untouched. Dorne has never been conquered! By Reachmen, by Stormlanders and certainly not by dragons!” She came to stand before Lord Uller and gave him a look of pity and sadness, “I understand your turmoil, my lord, more than you will ever know. But my father did nothing that deserved such a brutal end. Your daughter allowed her grief to spin out of control and hurt those around her. I can promise you custody of your four granddaughters, for they are innocent and I bear them great love. I can do no more than that.”

The old man stared up at her, and Arianne held her breath, keeping her face sympathetic, but stern. Finally, with a sigh that came deep from within his chest, he gave a sharp nod and backed away, bowing slightly.

“There is now a Lannister sitting in King’s Landing.” Arianne steeled her shoulders. “She expects us to bend to knee to her. The words of my house are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. And I certainly have no intention of bowing to a Lannister usurper.”

The next few words would lead to a resounding victory or the catalyst of the end of her reign.

“I have entered an alliance with the lords in the Reach, to ensure trade and peace between our kingdoms as winter approaches. Not as fellow Kingdoms under the crown, but as independent lands, as we were before Aegon’s Conquest. Dorne joined House Targaryen through marriage. We bent the knee, to them. And there is no Targaryen on the Iron Throne. There is no need for us to bend to lions, which can be easily smitten with a spear.” The doors to the throne room opened as Quentyn Qorgyle stepped forward, standing next to the dais as Arianne sat back down.

A crown, decorated with suns and twin spears interlocking at the front, a teardrop-shaped jewel resting upon the shafts, was carried into a room upon a velvet pillow. Quentyn, a large, and powerful man, her brother’s namesake, roared out,

“The Lannisters believe we are eager to scrape and grovel to this new whore queen! We shall remind the Red Keep that Dorne has never been conquered, and we recognize no Queen in this country. No Queen but a Martell!” There was a shout of acclimation, and Quentyn carefully picked up the crown, and declared,

“All Hail Arianne Martell, First of her name, Lady of Dorne and Queen of the Rhonyar!” Arianne stared out at the shouting men and women, as Quentyn carefully placed the crown upon her head. She stood, and declared,

“We will not bend to any ruler whose name is not Targaryen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

“Long live the Queen!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never understand how Cersei Lannister got away with presumably murdering a good chunk of Westeros' nobility and everyone just...accepted her as Queen. Like, Randyll Tarly just accepted her because Jaime hyped her up a bit? Bullshit. Anyways, Arianne is now Queen of Dorne and Willas is now King of the Reach, even though I did not depict it here. With four monarchs on the continent, how will Cersei react? How will Jon and Sansa react? 
> 
> I'm uploading early today due to the shorter chapter length! Unfortunately, there will be no updates again until February 8th. I want to build up my writing queue first, and I've fallen behind on some schoolwork, so that needs to be rectified. Part I will be over soon. I see there being about 3 parts to this story. We will see the beginnings of the three heads of the dragon before them and MAAAAAYBE finally get some Dany/Quentyn action and the beginnings of Dany/F!Aegon. Maybe some Quentyn/F!Aegon because if ppl can ship Jonerys and Jonsa I can imagine two hot guy cousins going at each other too and love triangles are dumb.


	12. Part I, Chapter XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Hail Queen Cersei Lannister. Long May She Reign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of torture and a rape scene (no major characters). It is not necessary to understand the rest of the story, so if you would like to skip this chapter, please, I implore you to.

**KING’S LANDING, WESTEROS**

**MORNING STAR, 304 AC**

A day ago, the Iron Fleet had sailed off, to confront the Dragon Bitch’s eventual arrival.

If Cersei Lannister could actually feel, anymore, it would have been safe to assume that she was pleased at this turn of events. Did she feel as though she had attained some form of triumph over the girl who called herself the Breaker of Chains or some other drivel? The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms strode through the halls of the Red Keep, accompanied only by Ser Robert Strong and several more guards.

_Pycelle must assume I am a fool, _she thought. _For this ‘knight’ is surely the mountain. _The smell of decay, nauseating to most, radiated of off the abomination on the warmer days, but as winter drew nearer, It became less of an issue. She had seen to it that the Red Keep’s stores were stocked. Let the rabble fend for themselves: they held little value to her.

Arriving in her chambers, a young handmaiden was sitting in her drawing room, giggling over something. She leapt up when she saw the Queen, dropping her curtsey. Cersei was disgusted by the girl.

_What a simpering little dove. _It reminded her of a young Sansa Stark. How badly she desired to wrap her hands around the Northern bitch’s throat and squeeze, until her pretty little face blackened just as Joffrey’s had, all those moons ago. A black anger curled deep in her chest and she hissed out, “And what are **you **doing?”

“Y-Your Grace.” The young woman raised her head. She was pretty, yes, but her skin was a touch too dark and her hair was brown, not red. But he eyes…they were just a shade away from that Tully blue that the little Stark girl had been praised for. Anger rose in Cersei’s chest, but she carefully hid it, letting her face betray no emotion. “I-It was a letter from my betrothed.”

“And **who**, exactly is your betrothed.” The girl told her, but it was slightly fuzzy in the woman’s mind. The name was familiar. Honter…Honter…a family of knights under the Merryweathers. _A house of the Tyrell Banner. _

The lords of the Reach that had come to the capital suddenly left, without explination. Cersei had wanted to demand, even sent Jaime to seek answers, but he’d returned empty-handed. Randyll Tarly, damn him, had simply stated that Lord Tyrell had recalled them all. _Traitors. Liars. _Her assassins, sent to poison Willas Tyrell where he had been staying with his Hightower relations, had evidently failed. And now one of their little spies had been left to watch her. A scowl spread across her lips.

“Why did you not leave the capital with your betrothed, Mirelle?”

“I-I…” In truth, Mirelle had not left out of a sense of obligation. Her betrothed was upset with her choice, but with her family dead from the explosion at Baelor’s Sept, she was alone in the world. He left her with enough coin to catch ship from King’s Landing to Oldtown, where his sister and her husband resided, and told her to write him as soon as she could. But the way that the Queen looked at her scared her, “I-I wished to remain and serve Your Grace.”

“Did you?” Cersei gave a thin-lipped smile. Turning to her goldcloaks, she sharply ordered: “Seize her.”

Mirelle startled, letting out a cry as the two cowled men grabbed her. Snatching the letter from where it had fallen on the floor, Cersei’s gaze drifted over the letter. The words of Mirelle’s betrothed spoke of a man concerned. Calling her _mad_ and a _Usurper_. Something deep in Cersei was offended. Angry. _Mad? _She hatefully stared at Mirelle, who trembled in the grip of the goldcloaks. _I am not **mad**. I simply did as a man would and took what I wanted. _

“Take her to the Black Cells. I am sure the little tart is hiding something, but the Hand of the Queen will…extract some truth from her.” Mirelle’s pretty face drained of all its color. Her blue eyes almost jumped out at Cersei, and it took all the Queen had not to grind her teeth at the resemblance. Mirelle began to scream, vainly protesting her innocence as she was dragged from the room, begging in that high, girlish voice for mercy.

When Jaime had returned from his inspection of the Lannister troops that now patrolled the city, he heard of the drama from a maid who had overheard it. Approaching his sister as she sat at her desk, he asked, skeptical,

“Was that wise?”

“Better we be ahead of our enemies than assume the best of them until it is too late.” Jaime sucked in a breath. Cersei’s emerald-green eyes were wild. Eyes that once thrilled and enraptured him, scared him. _I love Cersei. I love Cersei. She is with our child again. I love Cersei. _It felt as though he was trying to reassure himself. The beautiful woman stood, smiling at him, and soon sidled up to him, cupping his cheek in her hand. “And besides, everyone but us is the enemy.”

_How much do I believe that_? He kissed her nonetheless, leaning into her lips with a soft moan. 

It was the late hours of the night that his curiosity finally did him in and he crept down to the Black Cells, to see about Mirelle. He remembered her as a jolly sort. Just a girl when Robert had still reigned. Due to marry a knightly family from the Reach. When he finally found her cell, he had to hold himself back from retching.

The girl had been shorn bald, the sloppy job leaving cuts on her head. She was caked with dirt, blood, and who knew what else. Her nails had been ripped from the beds of her fingers, leaving still bleeding stumps, and she had been beaten, one of her eyes nearly swollen shut. The blood on her ragged shift, near her crotch, made his stomach turn and he wondered what sick torture they’d inflicted upon her there.

“Mirelle,” he whispered, startling her. She turned to him, her good eye wide and bloodshot. The blue reminded him of a young, innocent Sansa Stark. “Mirelle, what happened to you?”

Mirelle opened her mouth and began to scream. Her tongue was gone, and Jaime leapt back. The girl screamed and screamed and screamed, before she began to beat her head bloody against the grimy stone wall. All Jaime could do was watch, horrified, as the poor girl killed herself in the worst way possible. When she fell back, dead from exhaustion or fright, or something far more terrible than he could ever imagine, Jaime was pale and shaking. He turned to the side and retched, only stopping to swipe his good hand across his mouth.

_I love a monster_, he thought.

“Fire! Fire!” He could hear, calling from the entrance. Mirelle forgotten, Jaime rushed up the stairs, where the smell of burning wood filled the air. Following rushing servants and guards, he hurried to the center of the chaos.

The Tower of the Hand was ablaze, consumed by flames that flickered between mossy green and jade and emerald. Jaime hesitated at the door to the courtyard. _Wildfire_.

Cersei stood silently, before it, her silent mountain of a guardian nearby. Jaime came to stand nearby, and he called out her name. “Cersei.”

When she turned to him, Jaime’s blood ran cold. Her eyes were wide and bright, with excitement. With life. With sheer orgasmic pleasure, the sort that only he’d been witness to. _You still believe that_, a voice whispered in his head, hissing and mocking his belief in his other half.

It reminded him of the Mad King, but then she tore her gaze away from him, turning her gold-topped head back to the Tower.

It burned. And burned. And burned.

* * *

Yenna cursed quietly to herself as she wandered the streets.

The trouble had begun when whispers arrived that the Reach had declared independence. Then news arrived that Dorne had declared independence. The North had declared independence, leaving the Queen of the ‘Seven Kingdoms’ with just four and the Iron Islands under her control.

Anyone associated with the Martells or the Tyrells were in grave danger, and no one wished to be associated with them. She had once been an embroiderer for the Tyrell Queen. Made very pretty gowns. But when she’d been imprisoned, Yenna had quietly slipped away from the Red Keep, finding employment and a cot with a crotchety old seamstress on the Street of Looms.

Rumors of former Tyrell servants or sympathizers being dragged out of homes and murdered by Gold Cloaks inspired paranoia, fear, and before she knew it, the very same woman that had enthusiastically hired her now kicked her out, claiming that she wouldn’t be murdered for a ‘wench from the Reach’.

_I’m not even from the Reach, _Yenna thought. _My family’s from the Stormlands. _Her protests had gone unacknowledged and the door had been slammed in her face.

Pulling her shawl around her shoulder she avoided a puddle of brown and green water. _Was someone ill or did they toss a chamber pot out. _She peered up. It was dusk and the window above was shut, but she could hear someone coughing. She winced, hoping that some illness hadn’t found its way into the air. She couldn’t get sick right now.

Her sister lived in a village not too far away. If she could somehow get there, even if she had to walk, she could possibly…

“You there!” A voice stopped her in her tracks. Yenna wanted to run, but she made the mistake of glimpsing back. Five Goldcloaks, arraigned in their fine armor, a proud lion emblazed on their chestplates, soon loomed over her. They smelled of sweat and ale, and her heart pounded.

“G-Good evening, good sers…”

“She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?” One took her hair in his fingers: it was long and of a reddish gold. Her face was freckled and she had wide, brown eyes. She was nearly seven and ten now, her chest now straining against the material of her dress, and this did not go unnoticed by the guards. Her stomach sank when she saw one raise his visor. She could not see him well, in the dying sunlight, but she knew that look. It was the look that Anni had received from one of the Lannister soldiers three months ago, before she came back one night, shivering and with a black eye.

Anni now had a slightly swollen belly, with evidence of the man’s crime.

She chose too late to run, Yenna. She attempted, but the soldier with the blue-green eyes gripped her hair in his fist, yanking her back hard enough to rip strands out. As she began to scream, begging and protesting and pleading, another one grabbed her around her waist and they dragged her in an alley, where only rats and muck and the corpse of some poor sod were witness to the atrocity that happened next.

Yenna was shoved to the ground, her worn, but maintained dress ripped from her body, and the knight fought with his armor to free himself, as his companions held her down. Her fierce mother and proud father had instilled in her willpower, and she scratched and kicked and screamed furiously, making them work for what they sought. But in the end, it was of no use, as pain shot forth from her womanhood, the first ‘knight’ violating her body. Her screams died off, her brown eyes wide and filled with tears that refused to fall as he grunted and had his way with her.

One by one, they took their turns, some of them more than once. If she had an orifice, they used it, even as she vomited and cried and even bit, earning her a box so hard that it made her ears ring and dark spots appeared in her vision. There was no mercy for a girl whose only crime had been to make dresses for a dead queen.

When the sun dawned in King’s Landing, an orphan turned down the alley. Hopefully, if he pickpocketed the right person today, he would eat that day.

All that he found was the corpse of a girl, naked, seed drying on her body, and bruised. Her throat had been cut so messily and deeply that it had been almost severed from her body.

The boy had simply stared, for as an orphan who had seen much more, horrifying things in his short life, the scene was just another that was a part of life in the slums of King’s Landing.

It took three days for it to be carted to a pyre and burned, along with the corpse of a man who had been born in Oldtown, a man who had once served Lord Mace Tyrell, and the half-rotted body of Mirelle, whose only dream had been to marry her sweet knight and live a peaceful life.

As those present watched the bodies turn into curls of ash and smoke, the wiser and older amongst them, who remembered the War of the Five Kings, Robert’s Rebellion, and the many, violent conflicts that had wracked the continent in the last near 30 years, knew that this would not be the last time they assembled for such a scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Because I quit my job and now have more creative time! Updates will be Wednesdays and Saturdays from now on. 
> 
> That being said, I will never get over how no one in Westeros opposed Cersei's ascension to the throne. In-universe misogyny aside, D & D just acted as though there would be no consequences for the Sept's destruction and Cersei's general terrible choices. I was listening to Lindsay Ellis' excellent videos on Game of Thrones and she made two interesting points: power reveals and Game of Thrones had sociological storytelling. The stories were personal, but part of what made it so enjoyable was seeing the people affected by the choices of our protagonists react to what happens. The Tyrells were the most popular High Lords in Westeros. Margaery, whether out of the goodness of her heart or political savvy (I think it's a potent combination of the two which made her such a good character, I.E. what direction Sansa's story should have been taken in, instead of the POINTLESS rape plot and subsequent Sansa 'Strong, Female Character That Everyone Tells Us is SO Smart' we got. I don't hold anything against Sophie Turner, I'm sure she's decent in her personal life; I'm not a big fan of her acting style. Sansa in the books went from one of my most hated characters to one of my favorites. She does not sacrifice her emotions and her natural compassion in the name of 'STRONG FEMALE CHARACTER' status. She's **good**. She learns. And she doesn't become an unholy love child of Cersei and Littlefinger who is GRATEFUL her rape happens (can you tell that I hate show Sansa from season 5 on?).
> 
> Cersei's arc in the last two seasons was both disappointing and stupid because this woman who has made AWFUL choices for the last 6 seasons just suddenly becomes a competent ruler with no issues maintaining control? Lena Headey is such a phenomenal actress and really sold Cersei for me. But I respect anyone who gets millions to stand on a balcony and sip wine for 2 seasons. 
> 
> But subverting expectations, amirite?


	13. Part I, Chapter XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when a Khaleesi owns up to her warnings? What fate does Winter have in store for a battered North?

**MEEREEN, ESSOS**

**MORNING STAR 304 AC**

Dany found herself staring into the mirror.

Tomorrow, she would set out with Corinth, across the sea, to the smoking, ruined peninsula of Valyria. Running her fingers through her moonlight hair, she sucked in a soft breath, her gaze sliding down and over to the blade that rested nearby.

_I ought to have done this months ago_. It was quiet, the sounds of the city distant. Candlelight illuminated the room, casting shadows on her face, which looked haggard and stressed. Dany touched her cheeks, noticing that she could now see her cheekbones, far more clearly than she could ever recall doing. It really was as simple as picking up the blade and getting to work, but her mind found everything else possible to distract her.

A knock came from the door.

“Enter.”

To her surprise, it was Young Griff. He inclined his head. “Forgive my audacity, Your Grace. I asked your right hand if you were here and she told me that you were.” _Missandei allowed you here? _

“Your audacity is forgiven.” Dany turned to face him. The young man wore a plain set of clothing: a tunic of a light blue with rough leggings: his boots were dusty and dirty, but he had a dagger strapped to his thigh. The manner in which he stepped further into the room reminded her of a proud predator _He grew up very rough…not unlike myself. _Dany gestured for him to take a seat. “May I ask why the pride of the Golden Company has come to my chambers?”

_To proposition me?_ Dany did not know if she would turn him down. Young Griff was handsome, beautiful even. Lithe and blue-haired, with indigo eyes that even her servants swooned over. _No…he appears to have more tact than that. _

“I have been speaking with Prince Quentyn. Casually, of course…he appears fond of you.” Dany smiled a little at the thought of the Dornishman, clasping her hands in her lap. Resting his chin on his hand, leaning forward to grin at her, “More than fond, actually. Whenever you enter the room, those eyes of his follow you until you leave.”

“Are you here to report on the activities of Prince Martell,” Dany forced herself not to flush in pleasure at the thought of her teacher finding her beautiful, “Or do you have another reason for coming to my room so late?”

“Merely…a question.” Young Griff was silent for a long time, his lips curling into a frown. He bounced his knee, and flexed his fingers several times. Finally, he spoke.

“…What…what sort of a Queen do you want to be?” Dany was surprised, her brows raising. When he saw her expression, he quickly said, “I grew up all around Essos,” he quickly began to explain. “I saw rulers, both high and low, good and bad, caring and wise, or powerful and cruel. The Golden Company is eager to follow you. Eager to serve. They are in awe of the respect you command. But…”

“But?” She smiled and leaned forward, putting a hand on his knee. His eyes followed her hands keenly, and she could have sworn that he inhaled sharply. “But you doubt me.”

“…You appear to be a caring person, Daenerys. I said as much, down in the training yard.” He finally tore his gaze away from her hand. _The shape of his eyes…why is it familiar? _“But to be a good queen and a good person are not always the same thing.”

“…” Dany tilted her head. “For a man raised amongst mercenaries, you have given great thought to the ideals of rule, Griff.”

“…” He stared down at his feet. His full lips pursed, his brows knitting. He inhaled, as though he desired to speak, to confess something to her, but then, he looked about the room, his gaze falling on the blade. “What is this for?”

_I shall not press him for answers now, _Daenerys decided, realizing that Young Griff no longer wished to continue the dialogue between them, _But I will have Missandei continue to investigate this oddly charming mercenary and his father. _

“…I wished to cut my hair.”

“Cut your hair?” He looked offended. Young Griff himself had a head with hair that spilled down his back, pulled into a braid. Blue tendrils fell into his eyes, making him even more brooding and mysterious, even though there was a perpetual smirk on his face. “It’s beautiful.”

“…Amongst the Dothraki, warriors are only permitted to braid their hair when they have won a victory.” She looked at her silver bells, sitting on the same table as the dagger. The dagger that Young Griff now had in his hands, inspecting. “When one is defeated, they cut their hair.”

_Cold lips against hers. Tears slip from dark eyes, betrayal making her heart ache. A triumphant woman with a crown of fire, but eyes the color of ice sitting on a winter throne. A continent where white is the only thing one could see for miles. _Dany whispered, her tears stinging her eyes. “…I have suffered a defeat. And so I must follow the tradition of the people who embraced me first.”

“…” Young Griff suddenly walked behind Dany, prompting the queen to tense. She followed his movements with her eyes, and watched as he gathered a great handful of her hair. In a tender, almost affectionate voice, he said, “…If you would let me, Your Grace. I would help you with this task.”

“…Can I trust you, Young Griff?” A smile, a genuine one spread across his face at the question.

“I would sooner fall upon my blade than to harm you, Daenerys Stormborn. I imagine I would not survive for much longer anyways, with those who love you so in this city.”

Dany hummed, and stared into the mirror as Young Griff began to slice and cut.

Locks of silver hair dropped to the ground, gathering around their feet as he worked. Young Griff hummed softly; his eyes fixed on his task as he reverently carried out her wishes. Halfway through, tears began to stream down her face and she shut her eyes. The last Targaryen swallowed her sobs, as at last, she began to let go of what had happened in her past life. She did not care to take revenge on Jon Snow, or Sansa Stark, or Tyrion Lannister. On any of them. They would suffer due to their own hubris, their own actions.

Peace would be offered, but she would not be as giving as she was before. Her revenge would be the glory that she could sense for herself on the horizon.

“Your Grace?” Griff rested his hands on her shoulders, “I am finished.”

Dany opened her eyes.

Griff had cut her hair so that it hung to her chin: her thick, silver hair now curled a little at the ends, framing her face. Her lips twitched, and she thought that she looked like a child again. He had taken care to make the ends even as well. The young man himself was staring at her, raising his hand to run the fingers through her hair, grazing her scalp. She knew that look in his eyes. Lust, mostly, but there was now something else. He softly told her, "I could not bear to cut it all off." 

_Respect_?

She let him run his fingers through his hair. She liked his touch, as much as she enjoyed Quentyn’s chaste brush of fingers against hers when they walked together in the afternoons. Finally, he realized what he was doing and flushed red, “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

“You did a wonderful job,” Dany said, turning to face him and standing. Taking his hands, scarred and calloused in her own, she squeezed, “Thank you, Griff.”

“…” He smiled in spite of the deep thought he clearly was in. “I am honored that you enjoy my work so much…I shall leave you to your rest now. And call a servant to tidy up the mess.”

“Good evening, Young Griff.” The mercenary, with one last look, bowed, and went to leave.

_The Dragon has three heads. But must all the heads be Targaryen? _She wondered.

“Griff.” He stopped, in the doorway. In the moonlight, she could see that the roots of his hair were silver, like the clumps of hair that now dirtied the stone floor. Again, she felt a niggling sense of familiarity as she met eyes with Young Griff, and she knew in her heart that he would be someone important. To her, to her goals. She made her choice. “It would please me if you joined Prince Quentyn and I for breakfast tomorrow, before we depart.”

He seemed surprised, but gave her a smirk, “I’ll have to wear my good tunic then, Your Grace.” And then he was gone, leaving Daenerys alone to her thoughts. She padded back towards her bed, running her fingers through her shortened hair.

_Someday I shall wear my bells again, _Dany thought, as she sat on the bed, a servant arriving to clear away her shorn locks. _But I must begin anew, to atone for my vanity._

* * *

**WINTERFELL, THE NORTH, WESTEROS**

**MORNING STAR 304 AC**

Snow now blanketed the lands around Winterfell, Sansa Stark stood on the battlements, gazing at the people trickling in from all around the North, to wait out the winter as they had done in eons past.

_How will we feed them, _she thought, her stomach turning in anxiety. _Our glass houses were ruined, and the Reach has denied us grain. _

When word arrived that the Reach and Dorne had declared independence, citing Cersei’s illegitimate claim to the throne and past wrongs against their ruling class, Sansa had hoped she would be able to wrangle an alliance. The Reach was unreceptive, claiming that they had their own people to worry about during the winter, while their envoy to Sunspear had returned equally empty-handed. _Arianne Martell, _he said, _has no interest in forging an alliance with a nation so far away and barren as the North. _

Sansa had burned furiously at the insult. What sort of this woman was Arianne Martell, she wondered? The niece of Oberyn Martell, whose acquaintance she had made during her days in King’s Landing. It was said that she was a great beauty with a mind like a maze, the rightful heir to the Spear Seat. The people had welcomed her, and backed her with little fuss in their independence. _In Dorne, girls are valued as heirs just as much as men. _She walked to the banister, peering down into the courtyard where Jon spoke with several guards. _If I were Dornish, I, not Jon, would rule… _

“A copper for your thoughts?” Littlefinger now stood by her side, mint filling the air. Sansa impassively gazed at him, veiling her mistrust under a cool veneer.

“…Winter storms will soon come, and the dead are just beyond the Wall. We need men, we need food.”

“The Reach is now in the grip of the Queen of Thrones and her impressionable grandson.” Petyr’s eyes, dark and beady, shifted across the courtyard, following Jon Snow as he too ascended to the battlements. “Dorne is ruled by Doran Martell’s daughter, and she despises House Stark nearly as much she does House Lannister.”

_ Elia Martell was abandoned in favor of my aunt_, Sansa thought. _Of course, they hold a grudge. _

“If we do not deduce a solution, we will starve.”

“The Riverlands are in ruins.” Sansa picked at her black dress. There had been rumors filtering up of Edmure Tully somehow escaping his imprisonment. _Perhaps if I wrote to my uncle, we could secure something from their fields. _“It’s likely they too will starve during the coming winter.”

“No one has been farming the fields?”

“Of course not.” Petyr turned as Jon approached, “The War of the Five Kings was centered there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the smallfolk were starving all now.”

“Sansa.” Jon looked haggard, tired. In his hands, he held a small scrap of paper. “You should see this.” Sansa frowned and took the piece of paper from her hands. Her eyes widened: she recognized it as the flowery writing of the Spider. _The Spider…I heard that he fled King’s Landing moons ago. _“The messenger claims that it was smuggled from his imprisonment in the Spear Tower.”

“The Spear Tower?” Sansa frowned. “Why is he imprisoned in the Spear Tower?”

Jon hesitated, giving Petyr a distrustful look. The former Master of Coin caught the King in the North’s cue, and although his eyes spoke of anger at his dismissal, he inclined his head and walked away. Jon did not speak until Petyr had vanished down the steps. “The messenger claims that he was there on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen, but that Arianne Martell has him imprisoned."

_Another Queen, claiming the Iron Throne. _Sansa lips curled. Another danger. Another challenger, a beautiful woman who likely thought she would find some easy pawn or prey in Sansa Stark. _I will not allow it. _

“She will likely come with the army we need to defeat the Night King.”

“According to this letter, he fears her priorities have shifted and we are not to trust her when she comes.” Sansa’s lips twitched. _Perhaps he fell out of her favor once he arrived in Dorne somehow. _Weren’t all the Targaryens mad? Sansa had no intention of trusting this mysterious woman who had grown up in exotic lands and consorted with slaves, horse lords and barbarians. Likely the woman would come to the continent and expect all to fall all over her, immediately acclaiming her as their queen. _The North will never kneel again, _Sansa thought indignantly.

“It doesn’t change the fact that we need to find a food source of some sort.” Jon paced once, twice, before pausing. “…Perhaps we could approach the Iron Bank for a loan of some sort.”

“The Iron Bank, are you mad?” Sansa scowled. Could he really be thinking of that place? It was said that Cersei had attempted to approach them only to be denied: someone else had paid the debt that the Crown owed. _The Dragon Queen paid it, _Sansa realized, _in order to cut Cersei off. And likely she requested a boon of the bank._

The lady couldn’t decide if she were envious that the woman had the power to do that or fearful of what this meant, should they enter negotiations with the feared institution. The helplessness and confusion Sansa experienced made her angry, but she instead steeled herself, coolly telling Jon,

“We will make do. The North got on before the Seven Kingdoms and it’ll get on afterward.”

“But it would not hurt to send someone to the Bank.” Jon implored, “The Dragon Queen’s quarrel is with Cersei, not us.” 

His confidence was misplaced.

Their envoy to the Iron Bank would not make it there, set upon by smallfolk and bandits who had already begun to feel the sting of isolation. Bones were found near where they had fallen. Bits of meat and muscle still clinging to the fragments, frozen to the point of being stone-like. Sansa’s scouts reported to her that they had been cannibalized, turning the young woman’s stomach. They would not be the only reports that would follow over the coming days and weeks, as the ground began to harden and the snows grew deeper.

The glasshouses of Winterfell, partially repaired, would produce enough food for the time being, with careful rationing.

But it had been over 300 years since the North had to contend with a winter without the trade that flowed throughout the continent following Aegon’s Conquest. And soon, they too would reckon with a force more powerful than any man, army, or dragon.

Nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered Dany slicing her hair off in the first chapter, but I realized that she would need time to come to terms with what happened in her last life. I realized she hadn't had any significant interactions with Young Griff, and so I used this moment to give them a connection. For those of you anxious that Young Griff will try something: he won't. I'll do a chapter part from his perspective soon, so we'll get some insight to the secret Aegon's mindset. I will be taking liberties with Young Griff and his story, but the biggest change is this: Varys does not realize he is alive. So who got him out of King's Landing with Jon Connington? Points to whoever can guess this :) 
> 
> I'm gonna be honest, I'm wrestling with the Northern plot. I have several different ways that the story will go, but the only thing that is certain is that Jonsa is going to be a thing. Which is weird for me, since I'm a Book!SanSan shipper (it's canon OKAY?). But show Jon and Sansa deserve each other. Both of them have the emotional range of toothpicks. 
> 
> Jorah is going to return soon, because I miss the bear. But his reunion with Dany will not be immediate.


	14. Part I, Chapter XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to Valyriiaaaa.

**MEEREEN, ESSOS**

**MORNING STAR, 304 AC**

It had been decided that Missandei would stay behind in Meereen, to rule on Daenerys’ behalf with the assistance of the newly formed ‘Council of the Masses’ and Daario’s now-trained city guard. Missandei understood the politics of Meereen, and Daario commanded respect. The Golden Company also agreed to mind themselves so long as they were in the city: none of them wanted to be burned alive or some other horrendous punishment when Daenerys returned.

Four ships had been prepared with provisions, the small band venturing into the peninsula unsure of what they would find there. Even Corinth, previously so confident, appeared anxious of some things. But still, the maegi began to hint to Daenerys that Young Griff and Quentyn should accompany her.

_“Why them?_” She had asked the maegi weeks ago, as they went over the Valyrian letters together. Dany had been taught to speak the ancient language, but never to read it, and she had been making rapid progress over the last few months. “_I scarcely know Young Griff. And Quentyn is Dornish.”_

“_Why ask me questions that you know the answers to, Daenerys?_” Corinth frowned at her. “_The dragon has three heads, does it not?_”

Dany did know the answer. But she didn’t know how to feel about it. She listened to her heart, her gut, and she knew that it was true. Young Griff and Quentyn, somehow, were the other two heads of the dragon. Whether this meant that they would ride dragons someday or simply rule alongside her, that was unknown to her.

Her invitation was met with surprise and trepidation from both men. No one had traveled to the peninsula and returned since the Doom. But the Queen of Meereen knew that it was her destiny to return there. In the end, they agreed, although Griff was visibly discomfited by the news. His attachment to her son touched Daenerys, even as she wondered what secrets they kept.

“Your Grace.” The captain of the largest ship, a tall and handsome man of Lengii and Summer Islander stock named Oleo approached her, bowing. It had been a bit of a fuss to hire him for the voyage, but he agreed, sarcastically explaining that he had always been a fan of certain doom. “The ships are ready to sail. We merely wait for your order.”

“How long do you suppose it shall take us to reach the city, Oleo?”

“If the winds and seas are good to us, and your maegi’s map is legitimate, we should be there in just over a fortnight’s time.” Dany nodded, then sent him on his way. She stood on the docks, admiring the ship. She could spot Young Griff’s head of blue hair, and Quentyn’s notable bulk. Missandei came up beside her, and asked,

“Daenerys. Are you sure about this?”

“…As sure of anything that I have ever been.” Dany turned to Missandei, and took the brown-skinned woman’s hands in hers. _Sweet Missandei, you shall never fall into the hands of my enemies. _Smiling at her friend, she assured her, “You are loved by the people, my sweet Missandei, and you are quick and clever. Meereen shall be fine under your stewardship, and I shall return within four moons. I swear it.”

“…” Missandei nodded, and embraced Dany bravely. Although the gesture might have shocked her earlier, Dany hugged her back just as tightly. _You will stay here, in Essos, as far away from Westeros and Cersei and her Mountain as possible. You will be safe and secure; with the man you love and have the happy ending you were denied in your past life. _Stepping away from Missandei, Dany swiped a tear from the corner of the young woman’s eye, before telling her,

“Take care of yourself, Missandei of Naath.”

“And you, Daenerys Stormborn.” With that, Daenerys Targaryen walked towards where Drogon was waiting. Rhaegal and Viserion, who had been swooping overhead, screeched and trilled when their mother at last mounted their eldest brother.

“Homeward bound,” Daenerys whispered. “To Valyria.”

The winds blew strong, and the four ships, named _Aegon_, _Visenya_, _Rhaenys _and _Rhaella_, glided out of the harbor, as the three dragons swooped overhead, casting shadows upon the awed and shocked sailors.

* * *

Two weeks later, Daenerys awoke to a still ship. The first glimpses of dawn seeped through the window of her cabin, and she swung her feet over the edge, pulling on her tunic and leather trousers, dressing simply.

It had been two days since they entered the Smoking Sea. When they arrived, the sea had been bubbling and boiling, a strange hissing in the air. The sailors had stiffened up, become frightened, but Corinth walked forward and told them to wait. She withdrew from her dress what looked like a small sapphire and dropped it into the water. It foamed, becoming unbearably hot for all but Dany, only for the temperature to drop and the water to slowly begin to turn blue. Corinth then staggered, and begged Daenerys leave to rest.

As they sailed, the water grew more and more blue, but Corinth appeared indisposed, at least until they were within sight of the great city.

_I will save my questions, _Dany thought, as she came above deck, _for when we are in Valyria proper. _

Through the mist and fog, she could see it. The great towers and spires of Old Valyria, where dragons had once filled the sky and where lay the heart of one of the greatest civilizations to ever exist. _A grand tomb, _Dany had thought, as they sailed into the grand, crescent moon harbor. The docks, as they drew nearer, were made of white stone, not wood as existed in so many other places. As Oleo roared for his men to drop anchor, Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal flew overhead, as though they knew where to go.

“Daenerys.” The Queen turned her head: Corinth was now by her side. “Welcome to Valyria.”’

Dany had not known what she had been expecting. Ruins, perhaps, mounds of ash and crumbled stone from the fury of nature. Instead, she found…a city that was almost intact, but eerily still and quiet. As they disembarked, the only sounds that could be heard were their own breathing. Their footsteps. The sounds of the dragons overhead. 

She had believed Valyria’s buildings would be black, like dragonstone.

“It is dragonstone,” Corinth smiled at Dany, who appeared stunned. “But it is a different sort.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.” Corinth looked…happy. As though she had returned home. “Come, we have some way to walk, once your men have unloaded the supplies.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the tower of House Belnarys. They were prodigious sorcerers, so I believe much of their tower is perfectly intact due to the many wards there.”

“Wards?”

“Deposits of magic that the Valyrians used to form protective shields, or heat baths. Wards were used for a great many things. You will learn how to operate and create them while we are here.” Dany nodded, only to stop to watch Quentyn gaping at a great wall relief. She came up next to him: watching as he ran his fingers over the carvings of what must have been a battle of some sort. His eyes wide with excitement, he babbled,

“How fascinating! I wonder if the Valyrians told history through their carvings: this is the fifth one I’ve spotted since we arrived. What period of time was this from, I wonder, was this during the formation of the Freehold or at some other point in time?” In spite of herself, Dany smiled at his childish excitement. She cleared her throat and he startled, clearly embarrassed that he’d been caught.

“F-Forgive me, Your Grace. I didn’t see you there.”

“Don’t apologize, Quentyn.” Dany slipped her arm through his and peered up.

The relief was massive, three times Quentyn’s height and extending down the rest of the street. The Valyrians within wore styles of armor Dany had never seen before, and their dragons possessed harnesses, armor, and saddles. _I wonder if there are any diagrams here, in Old Valyria. I wonder if my blacksmiths can forge them. _She looked around. The city stretched for miles, and she supposed that King’s Landing would fit in it several times over, despite the shattered streets where water flowed, almost like rivers. _What if we built bridges? Formed a canal out of the city? I wonder if it would be possible to sail men and women here in order to build._

Dany snapped out of it. Valyria…was not hers.

_But you are the last dragon. Mother of Dragons. The Unburnt_

“I will not be the Queen of Ashes.” _But Valyria was not ashes, was it? _She looked about, The men with the wagons, livestock and horses following Corinth through the massive streets, wide avenues and grand boulevards. Her traitorous mind imagined great bazaars, flowing trade. Men and women and children who were hale and whole, not worrying about food or protection. _Could I bring such a glorious legacy about?_

“Your Grace.” Dany jumped. Young Griff had his hand on her shoulder, while Quentyn gave her a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

“I-I’m alright.” It was a lie, part of one at least, but she could worry about her stray thoughts later.

As they finally paused before a great white wall, a gate through which three horse-drawn litters could ride, framed in golden dragons, their eyes bright with sapphires, Corinth explained, “You might feel a bit strange when you enter the main courtyard.”

“Strange?”

“The magic embedded into the foundation of the tower reacts to new people.” True to Corinth’s words, it was as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped upon her. Most of the group visibly flinched, while Daenerys only scrunched up her nose and grimaced.

She did not miss the fact that Quentyn and Young Griff had done the same.

By the time that sunset stretched across the sky, they had entered the tower proper, Corinth undoing some of the wards that had automatically gone into effect during the doom. The tower was…eerily quiet. In mostly excellent condition. Bones of the Valyrians killed by the Doom were scattered around the rooms on the first floor alone, causing Dany to wonder. _If the lava and chaos did not penetrate the tower, _she thought, picking up the skull of what must have been a young child, _what killed my forerunners? _

It was as disturbing an implication as it was one which filled Daenerys with curiosity.

“Daenerys.” Corinth suddenly appeared by her side, “We shall have the evening meal soon. If you desire, you may explore while it is being prepared.” Dany frowned a little bit at Corinth’s words. Not because she wasn’t hungry: she was, but there was…an odd feeling she had. Of course, servants had told her that her food was prepared, or Viserys throwing whatever meal they’d scrounged up at her.

Corinth telling her that dinner was ready felt almost like she was a little girl pulling at her mother’s skirts, demanding sweets and a story. Dany looked away, flushing at the thought, and got out, “Ah…yes, Corinth. Thank you, I will keep myself occupied until then.” She peered up: the ceiling of the first floor was four stories up, with a stairwell winding around the walls. There was a door, wide and heavy, that Dany walked up to, Corinth by her side.

“What is this?”

“Ah…a lift. It is powered by…” Corinth frowned, and rubbed her chin, “Hm. I do not recall. Magic, engineered by past Valyrians. Would you like to try it?”

“If it is safe.”

“Of course it will be.” Corinth gestured for Dany to place her hand on the doors. It rumbled, before opening up: a lift closed in by rusted iron was revealed. Carved into a large block of dragonstone on the floor were nearly a dozen runes. Corinth explained, “This lift does not stop at every floor.”

“Does it stop at a central floor of sorts, like a hub?” The maegi nodded in approval.

“This tower has fifty-nine floors of varying size. We shall be using the fifty-sixth floor as our accommodations…you should see what is there.” The woman then picked up a candle, handing it to Daenerys. “And now, for your first lesson.”

Corinth waved her hand over the wick of the candle, and a blue flame sprung up, surprising Daenerys. Corinth waved again and it was gone, leaving them in the dim of the room with only a large crystal chandelier on the ceiling providing light. “Imagine the fire flowing from you into the wick, Daenerys. Fire can be destruction, but it is also light. Warmth.”

Once, twice, three times, and Dany failed to ignite the wick. She frowned, scowling as the burn of embarrassment bubbled up within her.

“Think of your children,” Corinth softly said, “Think of how warm fire is to them.”

The fourth time that Daenerys waved her hand over the candle, it caught flame, the flame not blue, but purple. Corinth peered at this with a fascinated expression, muttering to herself. “…Very good, Daenerys.”

With that, Corinth walked away, leaving Dany to squint at the runes using her candle. Stepping upon one, she squeaked as the massive doors shut loudly. The lift groaned and began to rise, which Dany scarcely felt.

When it reopened, a little while later, she stepped into an atrium-like space, with a large, circular window through which the moonlight glowed, casting colors into the room. Lining the walls were a dozen doors, elaborately decorated with carvings.

One in particular caught her eye: a door with a carving of what must have been a goddess. Her hair reminded Daenerys of a raging fire, and the only thing she wore was a loose ribbon that curled about her body.

Daenerys pushed the door open, and found herself in a room filled with portraits. It did not take long for her to realize that these portraits, lining the halls, were of every generation of Belnarys, from the time that the Myrish painting style had come into being to likely the last generation before the doom. Carrying her candle, she went down the hallway, admiring them. Most were silver-haired or gold-haired, with blue or violet eyes. Some were as pale as milk, or as dark as the night. _Perhaps they married out more than other families? _Before one portrait, Daenerys stopped.

It was of a family that had lived a thousand years before the doom. The father was stern, with short-cropped silver-gold hair and a well-groomed beard. He had his hand on the shoulder of his son and the other on the shoulder of his wife. Four girls, likely ranging in age from childhood to adolescence also stood in the portrait, beautiful and dusky-skinned, with wiry silver-white hair that reminded her of…

Dany moved the candle so that she could see the face of this lord’s wife. The woman was holding an infant, wearing blue and green, her throat and hands sparkling with jewels. Her hair was pulled into a fashionable coif, and her orange eyes stared intensely at Daenerys.

_It is no wonder that Corinth knows so much of dragons and Valyria. That she is so eager to teach me of what she knows. _the young woman thought, dropping her candle in shock. The sudden impact outed the flame, but the image was seared into Daenerys’ mind.

_She **is **Valyrian. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a plot twist? There might have been a couple of you who called it, but I digress. What does this mean for Dany going forward? How has Corinth survived all this time? Will I ever write a kiss between our main romantic leads?
> 
> From here on in, I will be playing very fast and loose with what we know about Valyria. A lot of stuff, I will be straight up making up as I go (which is how I write this story anyways). Like originally, Quentyn and Aegon were going to stay in Meereen, but that's no fun...
> 
> Have your early update: I was just really excited about this chapter :D


	15. Part I, Chapter XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon protects its nestmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of plot dump in this chapter. And finally, Aegon POV! Hopefully Quentyn POV will be next.

**VALYRIA, ESSOS**

**MORNING STAR 304**

Dany was anxious.

She had said nothing about her discovery, merely retreated downstairs in order to enjoy her dinner with the others. Some of the men, trustworthy members of the Unsullied and the Dothraki, spoke of what was possibly in the tower. Corinth stated that Valyria’s wealth and riches had lain untouched for centuries, and no one but they had set foot on the peninsula in that time. Daenerys, as the last Valyrian known to the world, was its inheritor.

_But I’m not the last one, _Dany wanted to say. _I’m not, and you know it. So why say so? Why lie? _She desired an end to the maegi’s secrets, but did not know how to approach the subject short of dragging her to some dark corner and demanding answers.

When dinner was complete and their dishes had been washed, Dany cornered Corinth on the fifteenth floor, where a library of monstrous size was located. Books, scrolls and priceless artifacts lined the walls. It was here that the queen found her mentor, flipping through a dusty old tome with an unreadable expression. She marched up to the relaxed woman and demanded:

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

Anger blistered in the Dragon Queen’s chest. “I saw the portrait. Of your husband. Your children. Is Corinth even your real name?”

“…” Corinth closed the book, orange eyes scrutinizing Dany’s bright red form. _Have I angered her? _“…I was named Shaelle upon the event of my birth.” It was put aside, on a waiting table. “I was born on Walano, where my mother was paying respects to her own mother, the princess there.”

“How did the daughter of a Summer Islander Princess marry a dragonlord?”

“Her father was a Lord of House Maentir and the uncle of her husband, Lord Saerion. Her name was Valla. My mother was a woman of swarthy complexion and I inherited it. Legitimacy was…an afterthought, in Valyria, despite our marital habits. In that regard, we are similar to your Dornish people.”

“…Then you wed…?”

“My brother, Valaeryn. He was a good man, if serious. My mother always complained that he would spoil me, aiding me in skipping my lessons and sneaking me treats from the kitchens, but when the time came for us to wed, we both went to it happily and willingly.” Dany’s head spun. She was speaking to a Valyrian. One who had been there when the civilization was at its zenith. All of her questions…so many things she wanted to know. They poured out of her as steadily as bile poured out of a drunken man.

“How old are you? How powerful was House Belnarys? Did you have a dragon? Did your brother-husband have a dragon? Why did you lie? Why are you helping me?”

“So many questions.” There was no annoyance in her tone, merely a smile on her face. Dany wondered if the woman had missed this, a younger person seeking her guidance. “I am over 1400 years old. I was born during what we call the Enduring Enlightenment Era.”

“You named your Eras?”

“Yes. They would usually last several hundred years. How powerful was House Belnarys? We were part of the Great Triumvirate, alongside House Maentir and House Vosovir. We were the leading lights, the example which all other houses followed. It didn’t do us much good in the end, but…”

“…I see.”

“I was not a dragon rider in my lifetime, but I did have the potential. I just never found an egg that would hatch for me.”

“The Valyrians could track that? If an egg would hatch for a person?”

“Yes, my dear. As for my husband, he flew a great red beast by the name of Faelor.” A dreamy look entered Corinth’s eyes, “He was a sight, up on Faelor’s back. He wore armor that was a forest green, and carried a sword of the finest Valyrian steel, with a dragonglass hilt.”

Dany could almost see it, the man in the portrait astride a dragon of monstrous size, allowed to grow uninhibited and unchecked in the clear Valyrian skies and land. Letting out a soft breath, she murmured, “I can imagine that he was.”

“Why did I lie…well, technically, I didn’t **lie**, indeed, I simply omitted certain pieces of information.” Corinth folded her arms, and with a smirk asked, “Would you have believed me, Daenerys? Knowing all that you have suffered, would you have believed me?”

“…” Dany’s voice caught. _No. I wouldn’t have. I would have assumed that you were lying to me and turned you away…or worse. _The queen pressed her lips together and turned her gaze back to the maegi. _Can I still call her a maegi? She is a dragonlord of old. _“…And why am I helping you? What a question. Come with me.”

Dany frowned, but obeyed. On the 41st floor, Corinth took her to a room, and picked through some scrolls, tucked into canisters on a shelf carved into the stone wall. Pulling one out, she began to unfurl it, and murmured, “Where is it…hm…ah! Here it is!”

Dany followed as she placed the scroll, which unfurled was nearly 19 feet long. It did not take long for her to realize that she was looking at a family tree. Corinth pointed to a name, “My great-granddaughter, another Daenerys, married into House Uraxen. Not a great house, but an old one. No small amount of generations later, Aegelle Uraxen married Baerys Targaryen, and together they had Aenar Targaryen and two daughters, Jacaella and Laelle Targaryen. Aenar, as you know, produced Daenys and Gaemon, from which your line descends…”

“That would make you my ancestor.” _I am not alone, _Dany could not resist thinking. _I am not alone in the world. _“But I thought that they only practiced sibling marriage.”

“It was the norm, but not always the rule. As with your Seven Kingdoms, we too had to maintain alliances.” Corinth turned to Dany and took her shoulders. “Do you understand now why I am so insistent on bringing you here, on teaching you? You are my blood, my legacy. My repentance.”

“Your repentance?”

“…House Belnarys may have helped to found Valyria, but it also saw to its destruction.” Corinth’s grip on Dany slackened, and she looked down, shaking her head, “But you are not yet prepared to hear this tale, Daenerys, for now, there is much more that I must show you.” Dany decided now was not the time to demand and push: she’d learned quite a bit tonight and she needed time to digest all of this. “For now, come. You will tell me everything you have learned about you dragons over these last few years.”

* * *

Aegon Targaryen had been one and ten years old when he learned that he was not the son of Griff of the Golden Company by a Lyseni whore, but the son of the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, grandson of Mad Aerys Targaryen.

He had promptly informed the man who he believed to be his father that he didn’t care about some far-flung continent on the other side of the world. Essos was all he knew. All the people he cared about were here, in this land of a thousand civilizations. Still, Griff…or as he privately knew him, Jon Connington, had told him the whole sordid tale.

Elia Martell was not a strong woman, but she was a wise one, and she knew that the Lannisters would butcher them. Cursing her husband’s name, she had turned to her handmaiden, whispering to the girl that she had secured passage on a ship out of the city. A desperate message had been smuggled to Jon Connington: he might have disdained her, but he would not turn away the son of his beloved Rhaegar. Kissing her infant son upon his brow, she pushed her child into the arms of the maiden and had a loyal soldier lead her out of the Red Keep via the passages. Another child had been put into Elia’s arms, sacrificed so that her son might yet live.

_Did my mother attempt to smuggle my sister out as well, _Aegon thought, as he sat on a chaise overlooking the deserted peninsula city. _Or did my mother believe Rhaenys too recognizable? Did she have to choose between my sister and I?_

He loved his mother for her sacrifice, and mourned the sister he would never know. But his father…Aegon scowled at the very thought of Rhaegar Targaryen. What was so important to that fool that he had abandoned his lawful wife and run off with a Northern girl? As the years went by, and he aged, Aegon knew that the Iron Throne wasn’t his destiny. Not really. It was tainted, to him, tainted with the sin of his father’s lusts. For what else could evoke a man said to be as good as Rhaegar Targaryen to embark on such a ridiculous course? Was Lyanna simply a foolish girl blinded by love? A victim, in the dragon prince’s fool game? Or something far more complex? Had she aspired to be more than the Lady of Storm’s End?

“Griff?”

Aegon blinked, and turned. Standing behind him was Quentyn, and he directed a smile at the older, taller man. “Your Highness. Did my thoughts wake you?”

“Is that what you were doing? Thinking, Griff?” Quentyn leaned against the banister, “I thought you might have been plotting something.” _My cousin, although he has no clue that I survived, _Aegon thought.

He had formed a good rapport with the Dornish prince: Quentyn was charming and bookish in spite of his warrior’s frame. His face was squared; without his beard he might not have been so appealing, but Aegon, who had always been partial to both men and women, found him pleasing to gaze upon. _I can see why our Queen also loves looking at him. _

“I have not seen the Queen or the maegi for the morning…were they up late last evening?”

“According to the guards, they were. Apparently, they spoke long into the night.” Quentyn shook his head. “Valyria. We are gazing upon it, **truly **gazing upon it.”

“It feels right, being here.” The words slipped from Aegon’s mouth before he could stop them. He tried not to grit his teeth, cursing madly in his head, praying that Quentyn did not look too deeply into his words. _I have seen what my aunt is capable of. Heard what she is capable of. And I do not wish to be an enemy. _

Before they departed Meereen, a man had been brought before the queen, credibly accused of raping a mother and her son. Daenerys had asked him if he were guilty, and in a wilting, terrified voice, the man had agreed, that he had due to them being his former slaves. Dany ordered him burned and crucified, left to roast in the Meereenese sun, to act as a lesson—and a promise.

_As awestruck as I am by her dragons, _Aegon mused, as he pushed off of the banister and began to head to the stairs leading to the first floor of the tower, _I have no desire to be their next meal…or target practice. _

They stepped out into the fresh air of the main courtyard: Rhaegal had been napping, but opened one massive green-gold eye as Quentyn and Aegon approached. With a low rumble, the great dragon raised its head, Aegon drinking in the beast that had been named for his father. _Perhaps he shall do more for our family than my sire ever could. _

Not that Daenerys knew of their connection. It would come out eventually, Aegon mused, and then he would be at the mercy of his formidable aunt. When he had first caught sight of her, clad in armor, a petite beauty on her throne, he wondered if she was just posturing. But as the weeks and days had passed, he’d learned quickly that although she scarcely came to his shoulders and was dwarfed by most of the soldiers who clustered about her, she stood head and shoulders above them all in confidence and strength of will. _If she discovers my claim…the **strength **of my claim…she could possibly do the smart thing and have me roasted alive. Unlike her, I can be burned. _

A part of him wanted to tell her. The night that he had cut her hair for her, as she cried, he mused on how lonely she seemed at times. Their entire family had been extinguished, before they could so much as walk. _I am here, _he wanted to say to her, _you are not the last dragon. _

But the part of him who wanted to do his mother’s sacrifice justice kept this secret to himself. Aegon managed to get close enough to Rhaegal that he could feel the heat radiating off of the dragon’s body. The dragon merely watched him, reminding him of the hounds that some in the Golden Company kept. Reaching out, he presented his hand to the dragon, who sniffed inquisitively at it before letting out a snort and raising himself up: with a great flapping of wings, the winds buffeted the secret prince as Daenerys’ second child took off.

“Rhaegal is sometimes as ill-tempered as Drogon.” Aegon turned, jumping in surprise. Daenerys approached, wearing her Dothraki leathers. The winds had tousled her short hair and she had a half-smirk on her face. “I am surprised he let you get close at all.”

“Perhaps he can sense that I mean his lovely mother no harm.”

“Is that so?” She looked him up and down, and Aegon squirmed, but then she smiled, watching as he joined Viserion and Drogon in flying about. “Griff?”

“Your Grace.”

“Where did you say your mother was from, again?”

“Lys, my lady. She was a whore with whom my father was infatuated with…” He cleared his throat: he had long suspected that his foster father preferred the company of men, so the lie felt suspicious upon his lips, “for a time. When she died, he left with me and joined the Company.”

“They let a man with a child join the Golden Company?” Daenerys scrutinized him, her violet eyes fixing upon him. “How fascinating.”

“Well. My father is a fine warrior.”

“So I have heard.” Dany folded her arms, and walked past him. Aegon let out a sigh of relief, only for the Queen to turn back to him,

“Griff.”

“Your Grace?”

“…” She smiled, a quick, calm thing, “I was simply musing on how utterly Dornish you look. Perhaps your mother might not have been as Lys, as your father has told you.”

It took every bit of strength Aegon had to not show his shock and fear on his face as Dany smirked and turned off, walking towards the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elia Martell, knowing what sort of man her father-in-law had devolved into didn't have the foresight to get one or both of her children out of King's Landing? Hm. For anyone wondering: Rhaenys is absolutely dead. There's no hope that she got out. That being said, we're gonna get into Valyria exploration soon, and maybe another peek back into Westeros.


	16. Author's Note (I'm Still Alive!)

I'm really sorry about the lack of updates for the last week or so! My grandad has been deteriorating quickly, I'm working on my original projects, and I'm waiting for the parts for my new computer to arrive, not to mention I've been lagging behind in my classes so I haven't had much time to write. I'm playing catch up and bracing myself, so my time to write has been lacking. Hopefully, I'll have a chapter out by the end of the month: if not by then, it'll be in early March, but I have NOT forgotten Vanity of Vanities. 

Thank you so, so much for the support! I'm not longer writing with a chapter plan, as I realized that it stifles my creative freedom, but some steamier content MAY occur between Dany and her princes during the next few chapters and we will hear what Dany's ultimate goals are soon. Some of you might be very happy, and some of you might be a bit dissapointed. I need to also take this opportunity to remind everyone reading: Jonerys will not happen, at any point, in this book. While I've softened my opinion of Jon Snow with my gradual reading of ASOIAF, I really dislike show Jon and I REALLY dislike Jonerys. While I hope they will get on in the books when they do eventually meet, I've no sort of inclination towards them becoming a romantic thing. 

That being said, thank you so much for reading and commenting and granting kudos. My family is about to lose its patriarch, but when I get a notification, it makes me a little bit happier. What do you want to see in Vanity of Vanities? Please let me know: I sometimes get inspiration for plot points from your comments! 

Yours Truly,

Rhea


	17. Chapter 17

This is not what anyone wants to hear, but I'm going on a full-blown hiatus. 

I've lost a bit of morale for this story and I'm confused in what direction I want to take it due to relatively recent events. My original content has also taken precedence, in what little time I have for writing nowadays. That being said, this is story is not going to be deleted and it absolutely is going to be finished at some point, but regretfully, no time soon. I'm going to turn my interest to other fandoms, other ideas, to detox from GoT for a little while. I'm so sorry about this but my will to write this story has been horribly stunted and I can't bring myself to write beyond 2 or 3 sentences for this at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos help me to write!! Updates will be Saturdays.


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